


Children of Amber: The Empty Trump

by damnscribblingwoman



Series: Children of Amber [1]
Category: Chronicles of Amber - Roger Zelazny
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fantasy, Gen, Multi, Next Gen, Next Generation, Original Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-04 23:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 54,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11001645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnscribblingwoman/pseuds/damnscribblingwoman
Summary: The next generation of the House of Amber faces danger, intrigue, and the disappointment of their parents! Adapted from a character diary for a campaign of the Amber Diceless Roleplaying Game, foreword explains many things for those unfamiliar with the source material and the premise of this specific campaign. Chapter titles correspond to “opening music” to set the mood for each entry.





	1. Crash Course in Amber for the Uninitiated

There are infinite realities, called Shadows, all stemming from the one true reality, Amber. The actual physical source of all order in the universe is a structure called the Pattern, located in a cavern deep under Mount Kolvir. Only those with the blood of the royal family can set foot on the Pattern and live, and once an individual has walked the entire configuration and reached the center (This constitutes the coming of age rites,) they gain the ability to walk through Shadows. An Amberite can go anywhere or find anything they can possibly think of, because all they have to do is concentrate and walk through Shadow until they find it. Because of the infinite number of Shadows, literally any situation can be found somewhere out there, so it’s unclear if Amberites simply find their desires or create their desires. At the other end of reality is a place called the Courts of Chaos, which predates Amber. Time moves much more quickly there, which is how characters like Dara can occur—her _grandmother_ is conceived in one scene and then literally in the next scene she and Corwin conceive Merlin, and then at like the end of that book full-grown Merlin runs up to Corwin like “Yo, pops.”

Dworkin is from the Courts and he’s the guy that drew the Pattern, using this doohickey called the Jewel of Judgment, which does lots of magic shit and is worn by the king of Amber; when he completed it, Amber came into being and Dworkin reportedly had sex with the Unicorn—which is how we get Oberon, King of Amber. Oberon’s conquests are too complicated to type out, so refer to a family tree via google if you feel the need. Think of Amberites like Olympians as far as incest goes, but note that Oberon banned sibling marriages, purely because he thought it would make genealogy charts too complex. It’s important to note that nothing is ever said about cousins, nieces-nephews/uncles-aunts being off limits. So in the canon, Julian wants to bang Fiona, Fiona _might_ want to bang Julian, Flora makes some advances towards Merlin, Merlin bangs Coral, and Corwin and Deirdre absolutely are banging, and in my head canon, Eric and Flora were in love but never did anything about it and Brand was in love with Martin.

So here’s Patternfall: Brand goes bonkers and decides to erase the Pattern and draw his own, thus destroying and rebuilding reality entirely. The only way to destroy the Pattern is to spill the blood of Amber on it, so he tries to use Martin as a blood sacrifice; Martin gets away and hides out in Shadow recuperating until things die down. No one knows what Brand’s up to, though, since Martin isn’t able to warn them. Brand disappears and people start to suspect he’s been kidnapped, but he’s actually off raising an army and doing sorcery stuff to weaken Amber’s defenses. In the meantime, Eric is regent in Amber because Oberon has once again run off without telling anyone where he is, what (or who) he’s doing, or when he’ll be back. There’s a conflict between Eric and Corwin, because Eric’s got control and Corwin wants whatever Eric has, which results in Corwin stranded in our Shadow Earth with amnesia for a few centuries. In the ‘70s he gets his memories back and goes on the warpath. Oberon’s declared dead due to being missing for ever and Eric’s crowned king, a lot of shit goes down (including Eric having Corwin’s eyes poked out—party foul, sounds worse than it is), Corwin eventually escapes the dungeons, and then Eric tries to extend the olive branch because someone’s (read: Brand’s) army is attacking Amber and they need to stand united, but Corwin’s like “Fuck you, I’m gonna take you down while you’re distracted and then beat the other guy what could go wrong” and then gets to the battle and is like “Oh shit, we should probably stand united,” and then Corwin gets to be the one who brought in the reserves and turned the battle in their favor, but not in time to keep Eric from being killed. [breath] Then Corwin is regent, Brand is outted as the villain and tries to finish destroying everything, Oberon’s alive! and he fixes everything but dies (for realsies) in the process, so then they all meet for the final battle at the Courts of Chaos and they’re all like “You’re outnumbered, Brand!” so he grabs Deirdre, who is the absolute favorite, and holds her hostage. Then Caine shoots Brand in the neck with an arrow and he falls into the abyss at the edge of reality and drags Deirdre in with him. Then the Unicorn shows up with the Jewel of Judgment and presents it to Random, giving him the literal divine right to rule.

In this rpg premise, some deviations from canon: Martin and Merlin were raised in Amber, when Corwin deigned to show up he was a passable father and eventually won back Dara (so she’s still all upbeat and youthful and adores Merlin), that irrelevant nonsense in Tir-na-Nóg’th never happened so Benedict never lost his arm, and everyone knows from the start that Dworkin is Oberon’s father.

And of course, credit where it’s due: the character of Shade belongs to Jason M., shopkeep of Captain Bludde’s Collectibles in Narrowsburg, New York, and he ran the original campaign that this is based on; Ronin belongs to Chris V.E., one of the chillest gamers I’ve ever played with, as you will see in his character; Naddia belongs to Jenna G., also known as aLuckyMuse around the internet, whose livestream gaming is very entertaining and whose incredible art you can and should go view on DeviantArt and Patreon; Garth belongs to Allan S., an aspiring lumberjack and host to a truly impressive beard; Blaine belongs to Max R., an MTG enthusiast who tweets with the handle mtg_jlp—also, had the good fortune to marry me.

Please comment with flattery or criticism, I enjoy both. ♥


	2. Vagabond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Evelyn of Amber comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: https://youtu.be/0RqYMXnRSKI

Eric’s last words were for Corwin. I don’t think he meant them to be his last—at least, that’s what I told myself. It was comforting to think that maybe his final thought would have been for me, that the loss of this great man I had thought of as a father would be mine, Evelyn’s, first and foremost. There were things Corwin needed to know, I reminded myself daily, as the next caretaker of our fair city. For the good of Amber, Corwin needed Eric’s dying words. I had to forfeit that right, and I could expect nothing less from Eric, whose first love and top priority had always been Amber—a fact which I had never resented, because I knew that a major factor for Eric’s concern was that he wanted to leave me a better world than his father had left him. So he spoke his words, and he spoke his curse, and he died.

In Amber, it had been nearly a year since Patternfall, but the Shadow in which I had taken refuge ran a bit faster; I had already passed nearly three years here. I preferred this Earth. It was quaint. This era of the Cold War, as they called it, was certainly preferable to the scalding hot one in the Amber I last saw. It made sense to me; it was like an elaborate game of chess, and full of riddles. There is calculation in chess, and logic in riddles. There was no logic in Patternfall, none that I could see.

Brand, the utterly mad prince of Amber and my third-least-favorite uncle, had upset the balance of our world order, betrayed every single member of the House of Amber, attempted to murder my lifelong friend and beloved cousin Martin, and declared war on the Pattern itself, the beating heart of all existence.

I was not actually there when Brand’s treachery was discovered; I had fled Amber after the battle that claimed Eric’s life, when the enemy was a shrouded mystery and Martin was simply missing. It wasn’t until after I’d left that Brand was unmasked, the final conflict ignited, and the villain was thrown into the abyss beyond the Courts of Chaos. Caine, another uncle and an ally of Eric’s, had been the one to strike him down—an act which had also resulted in the loss of Brand’s hostage, the cherished and coveted Deirdre. The whole affair ended with the unicorn, the sacred spectre and sigil of Amber, endowing my uncle Random with the divine right to rule as king.

My mother, Florimel, kept me up to date on the gossip and news, even though I didn’t care a whit. I usually let her calls drift to the back of my mind and went about my housework while she prattled. She didn’t understand how I could give up on Amber; but she hadn’t been in the field, she hadn’t been privy to Eric’s panic as he tried to steer us away from disaster and defeat, hadn’t heard his death-curse. I sometimes woke in the night, damp and clammy, still feeling the mud and grime caked on my body.

It was better, I found, to be a Russian—or a Briton, depending on where the excitement was on a given day. I was Sasha or Catherine as I pleased, and I carried a handgun tucked in my purse rather than a sword strapped to my hip. I read penny dreadfuls and magazines rather than classics and philosophy. I wanted to be anyone but Evelyn of Amber.

As the anniversary of that cosmic day of reckoning approached, I became more and more deeply involved in my hobby of espionage. My flavor-of-the-week allegiance furnished me with all the necessary trappings of a lady spy. All I had to provide was a boldness and wit that got me into the right parties, behind the right doors, and, occasionally, into the right bed.

The night things changed, I served Mother Russia; it was a simple task, just to obtain some sensitive documents and plant some misinformation. By default it was better than the nothing the Brits had for me that day, so I dressed in a lavender evening gown that looked horribly like something my mother might wear on the prowl. Sometimes I played her like a character in these little charades. Acting like a lustful idiot occasionally got me where and what I needed.

I had to sit through a show in the West End. A brief cab ride and a spell in the lift, during which I played the fawning date and he the sober gentleman, and then he was pressing me against the wall next to his flat door and kissing me with more enthusiasm than skill.

“So… Have you been in London long?” he asked as he fumbled with his keys. He turned on the light and closed the door behind us.

“About a year,” I said, “or two, depending on how you count.” I still found myself counting by Amber sometimes.

He shrugged off his coat and held out a hand to take mine. “Nightcap?”

“Delightful.”

As soon as he walked away, I felt the annoying tickle of psychic contact; someone was using my image on a very rare and special Tarot to scry for me. It’s a peculiar feeling, a Trump contact. Sometimes like a stray hair brushing against the back of your neck and sometimes like a slowly straining muscle. This felt more like a shudder rippling up my spine.

_Mother, go away_. I swept the connection aside mentally.

The sensation returned immediately, and stronger. Whoever it was, they were determined.

I had lived in some dread of this moment since leaving Amber—the day when they would drag me back, when the place inevitably started to fall apart socially without me. I knew it wouldn’t go away and I only had a moment before my prey returned, so I decided to get it over with.

Instead of the image of my caller, a great nothingness gaped before my mind. A blank abyss, bereft even of blackness, it was just silence and void. _Hello, may I ask who is calling?_ I felt eyes on me from that empty space, but nothing answered, and nothing appeared.

There were footsteps approaching—I had to resolve this quickly. I tried to break the connection, but the thing clung on and forced its way back in. I tried again, but it wouldn’t even budge.

My mark entered, holding two glasses delicately. He’d taken off his jacket and tie and opened the top few buttons of his shirt. “Another martini for the lady.”

“Thank you so much.” I accepted the glass and sipped it dutifully. Even my fine acting skills didn’t allow me to hold back my reaction. “My, Mr. Fleming, you do make a strong martini.”

The sex was passable, at best; a reputation certainly preceded him, but it couldn’t possibly be his own. Perhaps it would have been better if I wasn’t half-distracted by the continued sensation of being watched by the strange phantom lurking in the back of my mind. Worse yet, I got the feeling that the entity harassing me was getting some amusement of watching. I could have sworn I heard a chuckle from it, but that could have been the mattress springs.

Once Fleming was down for the count, I was in and out of the safe in the closet and on my merry way inside of an hour. It was a bittersweet victory; this information would end the war, and Russia would prevail. I comforted myself with the knowledge that by the time it all died down there would be rebellions to entertain myself with.

The tickling of the Trump was now an itching, twinging sensation that was slightly painful and only getting worse, so sidestepped into an alley brought the Trump forward to the front.

“Who or what is this?” I asked aloud. “What do you want?” Still, nothing. I was too tired and annoyed to be properly suspicious. “I think you have the wrong Trump; I am Evelyn, are you looking for someone else? My mother, Flora, maybe? There’s an unfortunately undeniable resemblance about the face.”

I was thrown suddenly against the side of the building. My skull bounced off of the gritty brick. Some invisible entity pulled at me, trying to drag me into the emptiness.

A pins-and-needles feeling prickled down my neck and spine. I fought to fend off the attacker so I could answer the second call.

_What are you wearing?_

I could see my mother’s face as though looking directly at her, and it was just as disapproving as ever. “I’m—this isn’t the time, Mother.”

_What is_ that _?_ _What is THAT?_ she pointed at the gaping abyss I held at arm’s length.

“It’s nothing to do with me in this world, I thought it was something from Amber.”

_Fiona!_ Flora called over her shoulder. My aunt appeared in the vision. _Look at that._

_Okay, you’re coming home now_ , Fiona said to me.

“What? Now? I can’t, I’m working—I have things I need to—Fiona, please—” I tried to pull away, drop the call, but I felt Fiona take hold of me and pull me to one side even as the empty Trump dragged me to the other. The mystery caller let go suddenly and just like that, I was back in Amber. The majesty of the place seemed insane compared to the London I’d just come from, and the gore and death I’d seen here last was worse than anything either Russia or America could devise. “I can’t stay.”

“You’re staying,” Fiona said in a tone that would permit no further discussion, and walked away. As the most learned of my elders and the most adept sorceress in the known world, her word was basically final.

“I say again: _what_ are you _wearing?_ ” I closed my eyes briefly and took a deep breath; this was a relationship I had been most keen to keep long-distance.

“Mother,” I said. “How lovely to see you.”

“Simmer down, you would have had to come here in a day or two anyway. Your Uncle Random wants to formally observe the anniversary of Patternfall,” she explained. “There’s a whole mess of cousins you’ve never even met. We’ve enjoyed great peace since Patternfall, and Random believes the key to that is family bonding.”

“A family reunion, Mother? Really?”

“Since when are you so antisocial?” She knew full well what the situation was; I wasn’t sure what she was up to, playing dumb.

I looked past Flora and saw Fiona speaking to a young woman I’d never seen before. I knew Aunt Fi had a kid or two floating around out in Shadow that she’d declined to tether to the stable; the fiery-haired resemblance was enough to suggest this was one such child. Then again, my own hair was dark as my mother’s was fair, so this was not a foolproof test of parentage.

My eyes drifted back to Flora and I realized that she was protecting my privacy against newcomers, which was a rare show of genuine affection as opposed to the pageantry she usually displayed.

A stunningly convincing smile spread across my face, stretching muscles long idle. Flora matched it.

“It sounds like there are some lovely festivities lined up,” I said. “I just wasn’t prepared to take the holiday. Might I have a few days to close up my flat? One day?” At the very least, I needed to get the folio to the drop-off.

“I suppose you can take it up with Random.” Flora looked me up and down. I knew my makeup was slightly smudged and my hair a bit mussed, but it was the dress that seemed to irk her most. Probably because she likely had something very similar in her own closet and we both knew I wore it better. “After you change.”

As I passed Fiona, she made a plucking motion with her hand and a man as big and burly as an oak tree appeared out of nowhere and fell straight down from nothing and landed on his backside. Portraits and pedestals rattled against the walls and a large urn brimming with some sort of exotic tree tipped over; a footman dove to clean it up.

Distracted by this spectacle, I nearly collided with the redheaded woman. For a moment, the three of us stared at one another. I had no recollection of ever meeting either of them, but I felt I’d seen their faces before—perhaps I had, or perhaps what I saw were the features of my aunts and uncles reflected in my own generation. I wanted no part in this reunion, this Patternfall Remembrance Day idiocy. I needed no help remembering.

The big man thumped the footman on the back in a gesture of camaraderie, knocking the poor man down again, and said in a booming voice, “Sorry about that, buddy.” He smiled and stuck his hand out in greeting to me. I clasped it politely and he shook it with a strength that jolted me considerably. “Fancy dress.”

“Thank you.”

“Is that all of it?”

_Well that’s quite enough of that._ “Please excuse me.” I retrieved my hand, which was a bit numb, and took my leave.

 

* * *

 

My suite was precisely how I’d left it. Time moves differently between Amber and its endless Shadows, yes, but here in these rooms it seemed to have ceased entirely. As I stood frozen in the doorway I remembered it wasn’t the same, though; my last moments here, I was covered in blood and half-mad. The blood on my clothes and the blood from my wounds was sprinkled from one end of the place to the other. In my haste to leave, I’d broken vases and jostled bookshelves. Someone had restored it to its former order for me, for which I honestly didn’t know if I was grateful.

I decided to contemplate the philosophical fruitlessness of contentedness later, and went to the bathroom to clean myself. I’d refused to rely on my gifts as an Amberite while on Earth so I’d had to make do with what cosmetics and toiletries as I could find there. The true difference in quality was only apparent now, as I met with that amenity again. It reminded me of better times, when I was powerful and happy. When I was the “Card-Table Queen,” as my cousin Merlin would say; one game of Bridge and I had three new allies under my thumb for all eternity, my pockets stuffed with secrets.

Once my face and hair were presentable, I went out to the wardrobe in the bedroom. I pulled out a silvery-grey tea dress that Eric had always liked on me and slipped it on.

There was a knock at the door, and the voice of a servant announcing that he’d come to escort me down to the Yellow Room.

“I know where the Yellow Room is—I do live here,” I reminded him as I went to the door, pulling on shoes. “Or—did.”

When I opened the door I was immediately caught up in a hug that lifted me off my feet.

“Martin!” I exclaimed. “Put me down!” Leaning against the wall beside the door, Merlin, my other favorite person, laughed at us.

“The vanished vixen returns!” Martin hailed.

Merlin moved in when Martin released me. “Lovely as ever, Evelyn. Although I must admit, I was hoping to get a look at the dress everyone’s talking about.”

“We have time,” Martin declared, looking over my shoulder.

“Cads, the both of you.”

Martin closed the door behind me. “It’s been too quiet around here without you two, I’m glad you’re come back. Being the crown prince is the most boring, tedious—I haven’t been out in Shadow for more than day in six months, it’s ridiculous. And I have to attend every state dinner.”

“And bed every ambassador’s daughter, from what I’ve heard,” said Merlin.

“I’m exhausted, you have no idea.”

I wondered what kind of king Random was; his rule was peaceful, I knew, but peace was not necessarily just and happy. It would be pointless to ask my cousins, because Merlin spent as little time and attention on the court of Amber as he could get away with, and since Random discovered and reconnected with his long lost son Martin seemed to think he could walk on water. I’d had enough time to get a handle on myself and prepare for court life (briefly, I hoped), but I was going into this fairly blind.

A couple of the king’s personal guard were stationed outside the room and opened the doors for us. Random was seated at the head of the table, but stood when we came in, smiling.

“We made sure she couldn’t escape, Dad,” Martin assured the king.

“Good man.” Random approached and I held out my hand, bowing my head in respect; he pulled me into an embrace instead. “It’s been a long time, Evelyn! Good to see you.” He stepped back to look at me. “Are you taller?”

“Not since I was fourteen, Uncle.”

He laughed. “That may be the last time I saw you.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Immediately, I knew I shouldn’t have said it; the last time I’d seen him, he was on a kamikaze mission to kill Eric. Random had thought Corwin’s latest attempt to usurp the throne had ended in death and so the youngest of all the brothers had burst into the throne room to assassinate then-regent Eric. It was my sword he crossed first, before Benedict took him down.

Random was kind enough to simply nod and say “I’m less a Hellrider these days, obviously.” He motioned for me to sit in the vacant seat to his left. Martin and Merlin drew off to the side, now more serious, and spoke in hushed tones, occasionally shooting concerned glances to those of us at table. Clearly, whatever Random had to say didn’t involve them at the moment. It occurred to me that perhaps their upbeat welcome was a show for my benefit.

“This is Evelyn, daughter of Florimel,” Random introduced me to the two unknowns. The door opened and a man in riding clothes came in, pulling off his gloves. “And this is Blaine,” he indicated the man, “his father is Julian. Garth, whose father is Gérard.” The giant waved at me. “And Naddia, daughter of—well, Caine, for legal purposes.”

“My father was Brand,” the girl confessed. A deep hatred stabbed at me, right through the chest. Brand. How dare she bring Brand’s blood to this place? To Eric’s house? How dare she show her face?

_But it’s not Eric’s house anymore_ , I reminded myself, and Random didn’t seem to feel the insult I did. I’d hate her quietly, then, as I knew many others would.

We were interrupted by the door opening once more. A young woman I recognized as the largely absent daughter of Fiona strode in. She had her mother’s fiery hair, cropped short since I'd last seen her, and wore her usual military dress. I knew she had a reputation of reacting violently to being called by her given name, but I couldn’t remember what it was. I didn’t know what epithet she went by, as I’d never actually spoken to her.

“Please sit,” invited Random, “we were just introducing everyone.”

“Call me Shade. Don’t let me interrupt.” She took a seat and lounged, looking unconcerned that she was, in fact, interrupting.

Random didn’t seem to care either; “And of course, over there ignoring me is my son, Martin, and Merlin, Corwin’s boy. So here’s how it is: there is an unknown entity utilizing the Trumps. It has no image or form we can recognize, and it has no traceable aura. Real head-scratcher. Not even Fiona can figure it out. I’m going to have to insist that you all stick together until we’ve figured this out,” Random continued as though I hadn’t interjected. “We—my siblings and I, that is—we seem to be of no interest to it. While we work on solving the mystery, I want you third-gens to keep an eye out for one another and watch for any red flags.”

Shade scoffed. “And what? Start screaming ‘Stranger Danger’ if it shows up?”

“What about others?” I asked.

“What do you mean ‘others’?” Random asked.

“The seven of us are not the entirety of the third generation,” I said. Random maintained an innocent look of mild confusion. “Uncle, please, there is at least one in Rebma and we all know the Shadows of Amber are peopled with royal bastards.”

“Excuse me, I’m legitimate,” said Shade.

“You make us out to be such tramps,” said Random.

“Evelyn raises a good point, though,” Naddia chimed in. “There have to be other children of Amber out there at risk.” She and I agreed? That wouldn’t do.

“Julian is scouting for them,” Random said, standing. “As the situation develops, perhaps more players will enter the picture.”

Random told us dinner would be served in the main dining room at seven, and took his leave. Merlin and Martin headed for the door as well, with only half an apologetic look at abandoning me with these people.

I grabbed Martin’s wrist as they passed. “Cousins, stay. _Please_.”

“Can’t,” said Merlin. “We’re supposed to be showing some foreign dignitaries around town.”

I frowned. “Random just told us to stay here.”

Martin shrugged, smirking. “It’s good to be the king’s son.”

“And his favorite nephew.”

“I’ll go with you—”

“No, you’d keep us from behaving inappropriately,” Merlin said. Martin shook me off and they left.

_Bastards_.

Forcing a polite smile, I turned back to those at the table; strangers, not family.

It was quiet for a moment. Naddia coughed softly. Blaine examined his fingernails.

_How wonderfully awkward._

Garth reached into the pocket of his flannel shirt and produced a deck of dingy-looking playing cards. “Anybody play poker?”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Shade said to me, catching me off guard. Garth shuffled the deck and dealt it. Naddia stood, unbuckling her cumbersome belt covered in gadgets and trinkets of mischief, and set it on the table next to her before sitting back down in a more relaxed posture.

“Oh? Good things, I hope,” I replied, trying to sound jovial and light.

“You’re hailed as the best warrior of your generation—which I’ll have to see for myself, but I’m inclined to trust the opinions of those who’ve said it. We’ll have to duel sometime. But they say you fought well in the Siege of Amber. ”

My smile faltered. “I’m afraid that’s mostly hype. As you see, I’m quite unintimidating.” If I had fought well in the siege, I wouldn’t have been overwhelmed by my adversaries, Eric wouldn’t have had to protect me, and he would still be alive. Next to his eldest brother Benedict, Eric was the greatest swordsman to ever live, and absolutely would have lived if it had not been for me being a piss-poor squire.

I picked up the cards in front of me. “Now, what are we betting?”


	3. Cherry Bomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the children of Amber make poor decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YI1zFQF-T8

Shade grew bored quickly ( _Sore loser_ , I thought); after a few rounds of poker she pulled a Trump deck from her pocket and rifled through it. “So,” said she, “I’m getting out of here. You’re welcome to join me.”

The four of us exchanged surprised looks.

“We were told to stay here,” said Blaine.

“Random said to stay together, but he didn’t say where.” Shade brandished a card. “My personal Shadow, Onyx. Who’s in?”

“Wouldn’t it be wiser to stay here, where it’s protected?” he persisted. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to be antagonistic or sensible; we all had somewhere else we wanted desperately to be, but was it worth endangering our lives?

“I can close off my Shadow to all Trump calls.” She had said as much already throughout the course of this social torture. “The second we get there, I’m going to shut it down.” She offered her hand to Naddia.

“I’m in,” said Naddia, taking it.

“I’ll go,” Garth agreed, slapping his hand into Naddia’s grasp in comradery.

“That is inadvisable,” Blaine said. “We should not wander in Shadow at such a time.”

“I’m not talking about Shadow walking,” Shade informed him. She held up a Trump that depicted what looked like, from my vantage point, a corridor in a submarine. “We’re taking a shortcut.

I traded a quick glance with Blaine. I didn’t think it wise to go, but I didn’t want to stay here and I didn’t want to be left out of the loop, so— 

“Fine,” Blaine relented. He sat up straight in his chair and he and Garth joined them and held out their available hands to me.

I knew nothing of them, had no notion of who would be useful and how, or who would be dangerous and how; I couldn’t let them all leave without me.

“Better than sitting around here,” I said, smiling and reaching out to complete the chain.

The walls around us changed to a smooth, utilitarian corridor, curving slightly as it went on. Out a window, we could see stars and distant planets and moons. Garth was flabbergasted by the sight; clearly he’d never been in a particularly advanced Shadow.

“What are those?” he exclaimed, practically pressing his nose against the glass.

“It’s Space,” said Naddia.

“Space for what? Is that the Earth?” he pointed and craned his neck to try and look down at the planet.

As Naddia tried to explain the concept of space ships and travel, I observed my surroundings. I had seen episodes of a show called _Star Trek_ ; clearly, so had Shade. Right down to the chirping of the machines, it was an homage. Only the uniforms of the people walking by were different. They all wore black and grey, cut in a military style similar to what Shade wore, and with her same embroidered icon on the left breast of each: a wolf’s head in the center of a chaos star.

I turned to ask Shade something, but was cut short by a chiming sound and a wall paneling sliding open to reveal itself an elevator. Within that elevator sat a great shaggy wolf, as big as a black bear. It stepped out into the hallway and spoke in a human tongue.

“Mistress, you’ve returned,” it addressed Shade.

“I told you I wouldn’t be gone long, Garm.”

Garth turned to look. “That is one big ol' doggo.”

The creature’s eyes widened and it snarled, bristling and tensing as though about to pounce. Shade stepped in front of him, saying sharply, “Garm, stand down!” She looked at Garth. “He is a _direwolf_ and he was very difficult and time-consuming to build, so _do not call him a dog_. Garm, I’m going to take them to the house, I’ll be back in a moment.” She took out another trump card.

 

* * *

 

Shade’s penthouse was modern and sleek and had windows that took up the entire north-facing wall of the condo. The furniture was all right angles and the décor stark and straightforward.

“So in your shadow you’re an all-powerful galactic empress?” I asked.

Shade shrugged. “I have fun. Make yourselves at home—or go out exploring, I actually don’t care,” she told us. “I’m entirely in charge here, so you don’t have to worry about lying low—but get yourselves in trouble with the law and I can only come bail you out later. I have things I need to take care of, but if you need anything, the staff will help you. I’m also going to try and figure out what that Thing is that’s after us. 

“How can I help?” I asked. “What can I can do?” Why should I trust Shade so entirely? What was Shade to me, what basis did we have for me to place such faith in her?

“No, best leave it to me. I don’t want any of you poking around in my Shadow’s defenses or messing with its barrier; it’s not as secure as Amber, so we have to be more careful.” Suddenly, she was gone. A rather abrupt exit, I thought; curious.

“If this place is less secure than Amber, why did we come here?” Blaine asked the room.

“Why indeed,” I muttered. I’d made up my mind about Shade; I didn’t trust her any further than I could throw her—which, to be clear, was not at all.

We decided to go out. The “staff,” which was made up completely of robotic things, furnished us each with a sort of credit card as we left, to cover any and all expenses. Blaine broke off to venture on his own, and then Naddia slipped away as well; I was disappointed to lose the opportunity to pick her brain a bit and size her up, find out the best way to get rid of her and such. It would have been too obvious to follow her, though, so that would have to wait. I could examine Garth, at least.

“Excuse me,” said my subject to a passerby, “can you tell me where I can find a bar?” The strange script of Onyx that adorned each and every sign was Greek to us.

“A bar?” The citizen looked confused. Garth did the same; clearly he had not anticipated a hurdle between him and his spirits.

“A place where people buy alcohol,” I clarified for him.

“Oh, you mean a parlor. Right there.” She pointed at a door across the street.

The door took us up a narrow staircase and into a large, open room; the walls were bare and the floor was clear glass over what looked like deep ocean. Music blared and strange lights flashed. Around the room were people seated in partially-reclined seats, with glossy black devices that were attached by a bar to the seatbacks covering their entire heads.

“Nope,” said Garth. He grabbed my arm and took me with him back the way we’d come.

Out on the street, the woman who’d given us directions still stood looking at produce under an awning, right where we’d left her. She spotted us as we escaped the bizarre place and came over.

“Not to your liking?”

“What was that?” I asked.

She frowned. “A parlor.”

“No, there were just people sitting around—with those things on their heads,” said Garth.

“Of course, it’s virtual,” she said, starting to look a bit concerned about us.

“What’s ‘virtual?’” Garth asked.

“We were looking for the actual physicality of a pub,” I explained to her. “Is there anything like that?”

“Oh! Oh, I see, you want—yes, I understand now.” She gave us simple directions to a place a few blocks away, and then we were en route.

The place was dimly lit and had the pleasant dinginess of a rough but wholesome establishment; a far cry from the science-fiction nightmare we’d walked into first. On the walls there were large, flat screens displaying images of what I recognized as athletic competitions.

Garth led the way up to the bar and sat down, putting his elbows up on the countertop with the ease and familiarity of someone at home, and I followed suit. The barkeep was a robotic creature such as the ones at Shade’s penthouse, as were the servers and bussers I saw puttering about the pub. It doesn’t require a human touch to make a neat whiskey, though, so I was unperturbed in giving the bartender my order.

“So,” said Garth, once we both had our drinks. “What’s your story, Evie?”

“It’s not much to tell,” I assured him. “I lived in Amber most my life, never really interested in Shadows, until Patternfall started, then I thought I’d take a holiday. I’ve been on Earth ever since. I’m hoping to get back there soon.” I sipped my drink in a ladylike fashion in contrast with the drink itself. “What about—”

A drunkard stumbled over his own feet and fallen into us, knocking me with his shoulder as he went and dumping his beer on Garth’s shirt. I had spent enough time in dodgy bars with questionable company to see my fair share of brawls, and even though we were on a planet entirely alien to us both, some things are simply universal.

To my utter surprise, however, Garth diffused the situation with good humor and seemingly genuine concern for the man, despite the drunk’s belligerence. When he stumbled away, the bartender approached us with a whirring sound and said, in a startlingly human voice, “I’m sorry about that, sir, should I contact the authorities?”

Garth laughed good-naturedly. “No, it’s all right. I think that man’s had enough, though, and should probably get himself home.”

“I’ll see to him, sir. Thank you.”

My companion turned back to me, as though waiting for me to finish the thought I’d started before the incident, so I took another drink and asked him again for his backstory.

He took over talking for a bit, leaving me free to take mental notes and observe him. He told me about his Shadow, which sounded very much like the Earth I had resided on minus a century or so; he harbored a deep enmity for arrogant souls, which was what had driven him to spend practically no time in Amber throughout his life, as he found the residents too self-important to stomach. He seemed to truly love being a simple mountain man and working with his fellows in Shadow, both of which sounded unappealing to me.

“There’s a legend in my Shadow,” he told me as he spoke of his penchant for assisting others and getting his hands dirty purely for the sake of such, “of a giant named Paul Bunyan; I’m no giant, but I am he.”

“Aren’t you, though?” There could be no question of his paternity, being built in the traditional style of a brick shithouse. Only Gérard could produce such a specimen. His size and strength could be very helpful—or harmful. Not much in the way of intellect, but that in and of itself could be an asset. I resolved to make an ally of him.

A woman who’d been circling the place for a half-hour or so, eyeing up Garth as she went, finally stepped up to the plate. She set a hand on Garth’s enormous bicep and said, “I haven’t seen you around these parts before.”

“Probably because I’ve never been here before,” he laughed.

She grinned and stepped closer. “Well, lucky I found you, then, because I am the welcoming committee.”

I moved her hand off his arm, saying, “Go circle some carrion.” I took from her the wallet she’d taken from Garth’s pocket and pushed her away.

He looked impressed with me rather than upset with her. “Good eye. I do some card tricks, but I can never spot them.”

“It requires wariness, to be sure.” I’d grown rather good at sleight of hand myself. The Americans liked to play dirtier than the Russians, for all their moral superiority, and more often required some old fashioned thievery of those they employed.

“Oh, that’s no good. Trust, that’s what you need for a happy life.” He saluted me with his drink. “Don’t knock on a bee's door.”

 

* * *

 

We sat down to dinner later that night back at Shade’s apartments; Garth and I had nearly missed it, having only noticed the time when it was almost too late and leaving the pub in a rush.

Shade sat at the head of the table, and got right to the point.

“That Thing has enveloped the barrier that blocks Onyx from incoming messages or travel through Shadow,” she said.

The option of contacting Fiona, she assured us as we interrogated her, was still on the table. However, it ran a great risk of letting the Empty Trump slip in and so could only be tried once, if at all.

I sat quietly, with my social mask on, not trusting myself to restrain my own temper if I interjected at all. Coming to Onyx had been pointless and foolish and, worse than these, a waste of my time. Having run off in indirect violation of Random’s command, we would be placed under heavier guard once we returned to the castle—which we undoubtedly would now have to do, backed into a corner as we were. Florimel would harp on me every second and seek endlessly to trap me in Amber with her, and it would be all the harder to vanish again when this was all over. I wanted very badly to throw something at Shade—the gravy boat, perhaps—but the prickling at the nape of my neck interrupted these vicious thoughts. A Trump call, unmistakably.

I covered my reaction to the sudden, unexpected contact with a sneeze.

“Excuse me,” I said as politely as I could while feigning nasal distress, and I slipped out into the corridor. I went down a ways and found a spare bedroom and shut the door behind me.

 _None of them have a clue and they’ll only get us all killed_ , I thought as I dug my Trump deck out of my pocket. _Everyone for themself— Geronimo._

It was like blinking, it was so sudden and seamless; I was surrounded by a thick, silvery fog that cloaked all landscape and scenery. As far as I could tell, the fog _was_ the only landscape or scenery. In every direction there were muted sparks far off, like purple lightning behind clouds, but with no thunder to follow.

I took stock of all this in just a second or two; there was constant, even pressure over my entire person, like the feeling of being submerged in water, and I knew from the constriction of my lungs that the resemblance to drowning would only strengthen.

Walking seemed to get me nowhere—literally, I didn’t seem to move at all, though I certainly picked up my feet and set them down in a forward-marching fashion. I felt panic start to bubble in my chest and tried calling out as I vainly attempted to gain distance. My vocal chords vibrated, but all was silent.

I was grabbed from behind. I struggled and fell forward; I rolled onto my back as a smoky spectre climbed on top of me, its hands closing around my throat. I fought, and its knee pressed down on my chest, pinning me.

A second apparition—or perhaps two—materialized and descended on us.

Terror started to get the better of me when I remembered my Trumps. My hands were clammy and my fingers slipped over the cards as I reached over to the cards scattered on the ground. The hands on my throat were lifted and I rolled onto my stomach, scrambling for my cards. I couldn’t breathe—I couldn’t remember whose card I’d had at the ready—I managed to grab one and held it up—Eric. My vision started to dim, and the phantom’s face started to take form, but I was too far gone to really see it.

_Eric, help me._

I was grabbed again by the midsection, and was hefted up even as I struggled. The image on the card bled away like a watercolor portrait in the rain, and in its place a faded grayscale image appeared, and then I was staring up at a wood-beam ceiling and the spectre was vanished. The entity lifting me suddenly gone, I dropped and hit the floor hard. I coughed and gasped for air, and it was a moment before I could sit up and look around. Seated on a couch covered in a thick plastic cover, smoking a large and obnoxious hookah, was the Creator of Amber and the supreme but utterly mad authority on reality; my great-grandfather.

“Dworkin?” I was relieved that my voice worked again. “You pulled me out?”

“No no, I’m just thinking,” said Dworkin.

“But…okay. Are we in Amber?”

“We’re in the attic.”

I sighed and laid back down. “I can see that, my lord.”

“You never visit.”

“I know, my lord.”

“It’s very rude of you, Florimel.”

“I’m not Florimel, my lord.”

“Well, you’re someone.” Dworkin hopped up and doddered away in his fuzzy, pink slippers. “Tea?”

“No, thank you.” I tried again to get up. I made it to my knees this time, and then used a nearby stool for leverage to pull myself up to my feet. “Grandfather, I need your help.”

“What for?” he asked, back to me as he fussed with the kettle on his wood stove.

“There is something attacking us, Grandfather. Like a Trump, but—void. It nearly got me just now.”

“Best to keep away from it then, I should think.”

As he fussed with his tea, I took inventory of myself in a murky standing mirror nearby. My neck showed no signs of a physical assault, and the sensation of it was fading quickly. It was as though it had never happened. That made me think—I looked back where I’d lain. My cards were in a pile where I’d dropped them; the top card was blank but for the border, an empty frame which used to hold Eric’s visage.

“Oh, why?” I asked softly as I bent down to gather them up. “Damn it.”

Dworkin, somehow, heard me from across the room. “What’s amiss?”

“Hm? Oh—my card of Eric, it’s ruined.”

“I’m sure I have some spares laying about…” Dworkin set down his floral teacup on a stack of musty books and began searching through his stacks of papers—sketches, notes, essays, maths, maps—until he found a card. “Aha, here we are. A fine one, too.” He shuffled over to me, and it occurred to me how very old he looked. He’d always been geriatric for time out of mind, but he’d never seemed so…decrepit. Something about him was getting worn. Frail. The way he walked, he looked arthritic.

He held the card out so we could both look at it. “My grandson, Eric, did you know him?”

“I—yes, sir. I knew him very well.”

“Good man, he was. Always came to visit. I painted this just before he died. See the scepter, there—this was his regnal portrait. Very fine work, if I may say so, very fine.” It was indeed an excellent rendering. Dworkin looked at me. “You may have it, if you like.”

“Really? are you sure?” I asked.

“Of course, of course, I’m sure I’ll just paint another when he comes round again.” Dworkin handed me the card and tottered off, humming. I wasn’t sure if I should remind him that Eric was dead.

I straightened my deck and put it in my pocket.  “Do you know what it is?” I asked. “The Empty Trump, I mean. How is an empty vacuum using a Trump? It seems impossible.”

“For every Thing there is an equal and opposite Thing.” This sounded less like the beginning of an answer and more like a musing.

“But why are only some of us affected?” To my knowledge, Blaine had still not been targeted by the entity.

“Someone who does not walk in Shadow can’t be caught in the dark.”

“So he doesn’t Shadow-walk much? Why should that matter? But—so you’re saying it’s like a Shadow,” I thought out loud. “A Shadow of the Trumps themselves.”

His mouth turned down in that strange grimace of an intrigued scholar and his eyebrows shot up onto his wrinkled forehead. “Oh but that _is_ an interesting thought.”

“Yes, then?” But he seemed not to notice me, muttering to himself and puffing on his hookah, mired in some philosophical discussion with himself. “Or, no?” I sucked in a deep, controlled breath through my teeth. “I need to leave, how do I leave? Dworkin!” I snapped, finally reclaiming his attention. “How can I get back to Castle Amber? I have to tell them about this.”

He waved one bony hand in the direction of a narrow doorway. “In the kitchen, second cupboard to the right of the sink.”

I crossed the tiny attic apartment to the cramped little kitchen and found the pantry cupboard I assumed he had indicated. I opened the cupboard in question and found myself entering a broom closet. Cautious and confused, I reached out and turned the handle of the rough, wooden door before me. I stepped out into a corridor in Castle Amber. A tapestry of the unicorn which had seen better days hung limply on the wall across from me; I knew precisely where I was. Without another moment’s hesitation, I took off at a run in the direction of the Great Hall. If Fiona was not there, then those that were would know her whereabouts.

As I came up to a corner, I tried to kick off my shoes, which were fashionable rather than practical and hindering me greatly, and in my distraction I crashed into something and fell backwards, sprawling across the floor with a shout. “What in the hell—?!”

I shook my head to clear it and looked up at the impediment. Shade. Fuck Shade.

“Where’s your mother?” I petitioned.

“Where were you?!”

I yanked off my shoes and threw them against the wall as I scrambled to my feet. “WHERE IS FIONA?”

“HER LAB!” Shade responded to my ire with her own.

Without further ado, I turned and shot off in the opposite direction, knowing of a quicker way to the Fiona’s laboratory than through the Great Hall. I could hear Shade on my heels, swearing and cursing me.

The door to the lab was ajar; I shoved into the room and found those compatriots I had parted with in Onyx there with my sorceress aunt.

“Evie!” Garth exclaimed, pulling me in for a brief but crushing embrace.

“Away,” Fiona swatted him off. “Let me see her.” She examined my eyes and took my pulse. “I can’t see anything amiss, and I’m not sensing anything off.” She stepped away to go write something in her books.

On her examination table was an unconscious Martin.

“What happened?” I exclaimed, darting to him.

“He answered our mystery caller,” said Fiona.

“What?” I shook my head in disbelief, asking Martin, “Why in the hell would you do that, you stupid boy?”

“He answered the contact in my presence and Random’s, so we could observe. He knew the risk, but he thought it was worth taking.”

“This,” said Naddia, gesturing to him, “is how we found you in that room back on Onyx.”

“Then how did I get here?”

“Well we called Fiona and had her bring us all through, but your body didn’t come out the other side.”

“Before you ask, I’ve already tried it,” said Fiona. “Martin was unchanged. What did you experience there?”

“I couldn’t breathe,” I told Fiona, “and then this figure attacked me, so I took out my Trumps and I called for Eric—”

“Eric?” Fiona looked reservedly confused, but also deeply concerned. “Evelyn…” she said gently, as though I hadn’t yet heard what she was about to say, “Eric’s dead.”

I felt all eyes on me, felt a flush rising up my neck and coloring my ears. It was difficult not to grit my teeth. “I know.”

“Then…why?”

“Who else would I call?” Rather than indignant, Fiona looked sympathetic. She nodded, signaling for me to continue. I explained what had happened to Eric’s card, and my meeting with Dworkin. It was difficult to relay the information reliably, though—I couldn’t make much sense of it, and the dialogue itself was almost too ridiculous to even remember.

When all was said, Fiona sat there nodding, thinking calmly. After a moment, she said “I’ll continue to look into it.” I was gobsmacked by this lack of a reaction, but she continued with that graceful serenity of one who is wise, “We’ll have to postpone festivities until we’ve sorted this out.”

“What about Martin?”

Shade pretended to cough. “ _Crush._ ”

“We’re going to leave him as-is for now. I understand your concern, but please calm down. Clearly, there is something about the third generation, and clearly, there is little safety to be had anywhere, so you’ll all have to be kept here and under careful watch for the foreseeable future.”

“What if you can’t get him back?” I felt myself coming apart at the seams. I had tried to pick a game back up that I’d let lie for years and found that all the pieces had moved and the rules had changed and the objective to win was an entirely different scenario. It would drive me mad. “Where is Merlin?”

“I’m not sure.”

I left, wrenching the door shut behind me. I heard it open and close again as I stormed off, and a quick pace trying to catch up with me.

“You’re not going anywhere alone,” Shade said. “Not after that nonsense you pulled back in Onyx.”

“I’m not going to be alone.” I heard her fall back, but I felt her watching me until I turned the corner.

When I got to Merlin’s room I knocked on the door. I could hear shuffling inside and voices. The door opened and Merlin, shirtless, appeared. He relaxed when he saw me. “Oh good, it’s just you.” He tugged me inside quickly and shoved out a girl who was quickly tying the front laces on her bodice.

“Really, Merlin?” I asked as he shut the door.

“Old habits,” he said. He went over to the fireplace to stoke the fire. “Jealous?”

I scoffed and followed him. “As if I’d be jealous of a Kashfan.”

Merlin chuckled. “Oh come off it, Ev. Everyone knows you’re madly in love with me.”

“Even if I was, your father would never allow it. Besides, you’re not in love with me.”

He turned to smirk at me. “I would learn to be.”

“Are you ever capable of being serious?”

Merlin’s smile faded. He stepped closer, leaned in, and said, very softly, “No.”

I shoved him away, and he went to grab his shirt from where it lay on the floor. “You’re a flirt, _cousin_. Have you heard about Martin?”

He sighed as he pulled his shirt on over his head. “Yes. I came into the library just after it happened.” He took a fencing sword that had been propped against the foot of his bed and started absentmindedly swinging it about. “When this is all over, I’m skipping this fucking place. It’s just one thing after another here.” He set the rapier down again, bored with it. “Bleys and I carried him to the lab for Fi.”

“Bleys was here?” I _hated_ Bleys.

He glanced over at me to quickly add, “Just for a minute, and I didn’t tell him you were around. He seemed frazzled, I think he’s been scouring Shadow with Julian for other kin. Evelyn, are you okay?”

My fingers and toes were cold, nearly numb, and I realized I was shivering.

 _Why now?_ Why a year after Patternfall, when Amber was flourishing and the throne was secure, with Random’s inarguable claim and his impending trueborn offspring. Why not in the turmoil of Patternfall’s aftermath, when it would have been so easy to pick us off one by one, scattered as we were—although the Empty Trump didn’t seem to be having any trouble at all regardless.

I pulled off the bit of ribbon binding my braid and dragged my fingers through my hair to pull it all loose, the easier to push wayward locks out of my face.

The game I had played all my life was over—and I could content myself, maybe, with knowing that if I had not won, then at the very least I had been the best player of them all. There was a new game I wanted to play; the only objective was to survive on my own terms and be left to my own devices.


	4. It's in My DNA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blaine son of Julian becomes a man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NLZRYQMLDW4

 

One of the recently-installed, limited-edition princes of Kashfa stumbled over a rock in the garden path and crashed into the pool of the fountain like a breaching whale. I lowered my spyglass and made a note on my map of the fatherland; pointing a simple arrow at the city of Kashfa, I scribbled ‘ _irrelevant_.’ I brushed away a honeybee and took up the spyglass again.

In the last week, I had been forced to reevaluate my conduct. Aggressive disinterest in the current events and state of my native country, I had realized, was counterproductive; if I wanted to leave Amber behind once and for all I would need to be informed, inventive, and above all, intrepid—but in that order. In the hours not spent with Merlin, Martin, or my horse, I sat on my balcony with my spyglass and assessed my surroundings.

Though it is well known that the winds shift in Amber without warning or mercy and entire monarchies can collapse on a dime (Kashfa’s national sport, it seems, is beheading royalty), surprisingly little had changed in my absence. This could be due to the stability afforded by Random’s reign, though it burned me to acknowledge any good that may have come out of the war.

The spyglass was a glorious gadget which had always been helpful—and, as a gift from Eric, treasured—but to date it had mainly been a spade with which to dig up dirt and forage for factoids on the residents of the castle and, less often, the city. I had never seen it for the true boon it was until now, when it was a veritable lifeline in this maelstrom.

It had its drawbacks, of course; while in Shadow, it was a piercing telescope from which very little can be hidden, but in Amber it could cut through little more than a garden hedge and a few walls. Trying to look beyond the borders of the Golden Circle into Shadow was like peering through fogged glass; Kashfa was as far as I could see clearly. I would have to wait to plan the second half of my escape until after I had executed the first; this uncertainty made me uncomfortable; every act of defiance would make the next more difficult and more dangerous, and I was not fool enough to think that a second flight would be forgiven as easily as the first.

Once I had exhausted this resource, and felt confident that there was no particular threat to a life retreated to Shadow currently within the Golden Circle, I stashed the evidence of my plan in a shoebox at the bottom of my wardrobe, and then changed for dinner.

I stopped by to see Martin in the infirmary on my way to the dining hall; he was unchanged, though unshaven.

There were some foreign dignitaries in town, so dinner and drinks were a little more formal than when it was just the family. Merlin abandoned me immediately for the trollop I’d caught him with, and Flora spotted me alone. Before she could rope me into something, a slender arm slipped around mine.

“I should be offended you haven’t called on me, Evelyn dear,” said one of my closest friends, Vinta Bayle.

Vinta was a few years older than me, but had never minded me tagging along with her everywhere she went, even when we were small. I’d learned a lot of my womanly wiles from her, though we both knew without saying it that long ago the student had surpassed the master.

I only realized I was blocking the way to the drink cart when my Uncle Caine had to ask me to move. “Pardon me—oh, Evelyn, I thought you were gone already.”

“Would that be preferable, Uncle?”

Caine didn’t smile; Caine never smiled. He was famous for his perpetually stern disposition, but he’d always been kind to me, in his own prickly way, and having known him so long I could tell that he liked that I was brave enough to tease him, as though he were not so dour.

“Welcome,” he answered shortly. He nodded in acknowledgment to Vinta. “Lady Bayle.”

She bowed her head. “My lord.”

He stared at her intently for a moment, then moved on past us to the drink cart.

“Wow,” I remarked. “You’re really wearing him down, aren’t you?”

Vinta’s smile was radiant. “He writes to me when I’m out at the vineyard.” She’d been completely in love with Caine since we were girls, and he’d almost certainly been in love with her since we’d become women.

“What does he write about?”

“Architecture, mostly.”

“So it’s going…well?”

“Oh, splendidly.”

 

* * *

 

I was pulled from the sweet abyss of sleep far too soon and quite unceremoniously.

“Get up!” said a cheerful, mischievous voice as a hand shook my shoulder.

“Random?” I sat up, pushed my hair out of my face. “What in the name of Chaos—”

“Your cousin Blaine is walking the Pattern today!”

“Oh, yes, darling Blaine.” I fell back into my pillows, sending a few down feathers up into to the air with a puff. The full sentence made it through my auditory cortex and I propped myself up on an elbow, brushing a feather off my nose. “He’s never walked the Pattern? How old is he?” He looked and seemed older than me, but he couldn’t yet be of age by Amber standards if he had yet to walk the Pattern. It would certainly explain why he’d been immune to the attacks of the Empty Trump. “Oh god, he’s not one of those hill people that’s never even seen the city before, is he?”

“Of course he is; Julian raised him. Get dressed,” said the king, as he opened my wardrobe and began pulling out bits of an outfit—beginning with the basic necessities.

“Hey!” I scrambled out of bed and pulled a slip out of his hand. “ _Uncle!_ ” I complained, using the familial title to remind him how inappropriate it was for him to be handling my undergarments. He was a married man, after all.

Random smirked. He was terribly attractive, like most all our family. Had Oberon not forbidden brother-sister unions, I doubt anyone of them would have ever strayed from the family homestead. “It worked, didn’t it? We don’t have much time to waste—Julian’s just arrived, so we should begin immediately; I don’t want to detain him long. Wear this one, it’s nice.”

“What’s the occasion?” I asked. I could hardly believe Blaine wanted a debutante ball. “Random, I’m fairly hungover, and I strongly suspect that you are still drunk.”

“Evelyn, it’s his Patternwalk!” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together excitedly. “We’re going to do it up right. I have to wake the others—get dressed!”

He was gone as suddenly as he’d come. I grumbled and flopped back on my bed; proper court festivities, that was just what I needed.

 _Why did I ever leave?_ I thought bitterly.

Displeasing the king would be perhaps disadvantageous, and Random’s proximity to my tools of flight in the wardrobe had been too near a brush for my liking. So I dressed and pinned my hair back. As I made my way towards the gathering place for this sacramental rite, I tried to think positively: the carousing following this event might give me a chance to slip away, if I could manage it so quickly, and if Julian was in the castle then he was not guarding Arden. I’d only have to slip by his Rangers.

It looked like Random had pulled every member of the family from bed to attend young Blaine as he entered into manhood—a fact which clearly irked the guest of honor, as I’d expected. He stepped aside with Random for a moment before returning to the group, dour and defeated in his quest to avoid attention.

 _It’s not as though this will be entertaining for us_ , I silently snapped at him. _It would be better to ritualistically watch paint dry. Or watch dew form. Or ice melt._

As I internally rattled off a list of all the things that were infinitely more interesting than Blaine in general, Random led the way down the endlessly winding stair, down into the bowels of the castle, into the very roots of the mountain. Bumping shoulders with my elders (for I refused to associate further with my peers), I thought of my own Pattern-walk, helplessly nostalgic in the face of such a ritual; Flora had insisted on a big to-do, which was fairly mortifying, but in hindsight strangely gratifying; I came by that victory honestly and—if I do say so myself—doughtily, and every person of import in Amber had witnessed it. I was a force to be reckoned with, and they could see it for themselves—I wondered how to regain that element of myself, for I had most certainly lost it somewhere along the way.

The door to the cavern which housed the Pattern had not changed, probably for the entire duration of its existence, but the honor of keeping the key had switched hands often enough; seeing Random unlock the door, watching Random push through the entrance, hearing Random instruct Blaine to go down to the Pattern’s edge, was somewhat surreal. My Uncle Random, of all people, the king. I could see the stalwart and staunch Corwin in the role easily enough—that is, if it had to be anyone but Eric, who undeniably was the epitome of a monarch. I’d often wondered if Eric’s Shadows had been the inspiration for “once-and-future” kings throughout the known realms. Right down to his laugh, his temper, and even his Trump, he was kingly. But Corwin was passable.

And then there was Random. Perhaps the best of them, in his heart, but also maybe the worst of them, in his past. Martin’s mother came to mind—and Martin himself, at whose side Random was not, whose peril Random seemed to have forgotten in favor of revels. The throne had changed Random, matured him, it was obvious, but had it also made him cold? Would his child by Vialle be just as much deprived of a good father as Martin was now?

I had no idea who my father was; the mystery had not plagued me much throughout my childhood, as I had Eric—and up to a certain age, I’d believed he actually was my father.

 _I wish I were his daughter_ , I now thought. _It’d be so convenient_. Eric’s blood would entitle me to all his property and his legacy, and would trump my ties to Florimel. He certainly had some offspring somewhere, in some far-off Shadow, I couldn’t imagine he didn’t. Perhaps even a few bastards here in Amber. A rightful heir to Eric’s throne was out there, a Wart waiting to be Arthur. I had to believe that—it was better than thinking his line had ended with him. Really, there was every possibility I was indeed his, but he’d never formally claimed me and Flora had always refused to name the man.

Suddenly, in the middle of my musings, I felt a sharpness at the base of my skull; a Trump. I immediately turned and pushed past Julian to get to Fiona, calling out to her. The Pattern flashed like a blinding beacon and the cavern rang and shook with a noise like a great gong. Fiona looked at me and knew instantly. She reached out and grabbed my hand. I felt a surge pass from her into me, running up my arm as though plunged into hot water, and the Trump call ceased suddenly.

I turned and looked for my cousins in the crowd. My eyes landed on Naddia and Shade, standing together, the former with a hand gripping the latter’s shoulder, and both looking back at me and Fiona with pale faces and wide eyes. It was not just me, then. The elder Amberites were parting, backing away a few feet from poor, stupid Garth, who stood still as stone, with dead eyes.

Random shoved a few of his siblings aside to get a closer look, Fiona on his heels, and he made a noise of despair at the sight. “We have to carry him back up the stairs.”

I fought the urge to make a similar sound and looked back to Blaine. He trudged onward.

The prickling pain returned suddenly, forcefully, and stronger. Brand’s girl flung a hand out to grab mine, and so did Shade; as they grabbed each other’s hands once more, I pulled away from them, untrusting, and instead reached for Fiona again, and again she lent me the strength to deny the Trump contact.

The Pattern’s light dimmed considerably, and the flickering breath of embers shot up around Blaine. He struggled forward, the ring of sparks following him. As he took his final step, the Pattern curled in on itself, like an enormous fish flailing sluggishly on a rock. Time trickled slower than the drip from the cavern ceiling. The impossibility of this canceled all thought, and the entire court stood motionless and speechless.

Lines lifted themselves from the Pattern, tentacles reaching out to grope at the walls and the floor. Several of these tendrils extended towards the onlookers. Everyone drew back, and those few who had thought to arm themselves brought out their weapons. A tendril groped along the wall of the cave, gaining speed as it slid toward us.

Naddia suddenly fell, shouting; her legs were tangled in pale vines. She tore at these even as she was dragged toward the edge of the overhang. Caine tried to grab her, but the was a huge, cracking spark and he was flung back.

Someone yelled “Look out!” and the tendril on the wall slammed onto the ground, splitting the group. It swung towards my side.

Merlin grabbed my arm and pulled me behind him, sword drawn. The thing swung at him, caught him in the stomach hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He fell back onto me, but I shoved him aside before he could pin me down. The tentacle slid right past him and curled around my body instead. Martin jumped forward to assist me, which caused a great deal of panic. Julian tried to pull the prince back to a safer spot; after a very short struggle, he knocked my cousin over the head with the hilt of his knife.

In this chaos, I saw Shade fighting off her own vine as Naddia was dragged off the overhang, and Benedict picked the unconscious Martin up and flung him over his shoulder.

“Everyone get back!” he shouted. “Back, now!”

The tendrils, with Shade, Naddia, and I in tow, returned to the Pattern. They deposited us in the center, and then everything vanished.

I was blinded by a sudden, all-encompassing and strange light. When my eyes adjusted, I saw a black-sanded desert and an empty night sky of dazzling white. In the distance, mountains seemed to glow with pale light.

“Well,” I said. “Shit.”


	5. Where is My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the situation deteriorates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5iC0YXspJRM

The sun had not moved at all, though by my own reckoning we’d stood there arguing for at least a half-hour. Within moments of arriving in this bizarre wasteland we’d exhausted all our resources; Blaine had checked his Trumps for assistance, and found them not only quiet but also warm, indicating a dead connection—or a massacre back home, and I’m not sure which I preferred. Shade had attempted to shift through Shadow to find help, but would have had as much luck clicking her heels together and chanting “ _There’s no place like Amber_.” I had searched the landscape with my spyglass—and thank whatever higher power you like that I’d decided to slip it into my pocket at the last second as I’d left my rooms that morning. But it may as well have been any other glass, for it was no special help.

“We’re not in Shadow,” I said. “But—how is that possible?”

“How could you know that?” asked Shade.

“If we were in Shadow, I’d be able to see through to the next realm with this glass,” I explained, searching the landscape. “Even in Amber, it’d work better than this.” Off to the west—or what we could best approximate was west, since the sun wasn’t moving—there was a slope in the landscape, though I couldn’t tell from where I stood what it became as it declined.

“Standing here bickering won’t do any of us any good,” I said, interrupting Shade in one of her rants. I gestured towards the slope. “I’m going that way.”

“Why?” asked Naddia, following me.

She was just behind me, so she didn’t see the truly excellent way in which I rolled my eyes. “A downward slope will eventually lead to water. Water will lead to plants, shelter, food—what will trudging through the desert lead to?” I flicked a hand in the direction opposite the one we were taking, towards the uniform barrenness of the land.

Blaine and Shade followed as well, and as we walked, the conversation grew more productive. We were all burning with the same questions—what had happened with the Pattern, what had caused it, and what did it mean?

“Did you feel the first contact, like we did?” I asked Blaine. “When the Pattern flashed and made that ringing noise?”

“I did not.” He certainly wasn’t one to offer more than was asked for.

“What _happened_ to the Pattern?” Naddia seemed to be asking the desert itself as much as any one of us.

“I wonder if the psychotic Trump and the Pattern fuckery are caused by the same thing,” mused Shade. “A Common Fuckter, if you will. Or if what happened with the Pattern was a _response_ to the Trump.”

“We’re assuming that this place is bad and dangerous,” said Blaine. “It doesn’t seem so hellish, though.”

“I wonder if the Pattern put us here to protect us,” Naddia thought aloud.

“Like a safety bunker—that would be something to think about,” I added.

“Guys, we’re talking as though the Pattern _thinks_ ,” Shade pointed out. “It’s not sentient. It can’t _do_ things actively.”

“We don’t know that. Maybe it’s still damaged,” I offered. I’d left Amber before Oberon had repaired it—I didn’t know what exactly he’d done to “fix it.” “Maybe Oberon couldn’t completely restore it.”

Shade shook her head. “I don’t think it’s that; it would have become apparent sooner.”

I noticed that as we plodded along and hashed all this out over and again, I grew neither tired nor thirsty. I wasn’t even hungry, though I hadn’t eaten yet today. The sun hadn’t budged and the sky was as clear as ever, and so I thought we also must be in a stasis of some sort.

 _That might be a good thing_ , I thought, _as we have no supplies and no way of telling how long we’ll be here or if help will find us_. But regardless, it was unsettling.

The ground began to change from sand to more tightly packed dry dirt. The valley I was hoping to find was at the bottom of the ravine before us; some sixty feet or so straight down, a gently sloping valley was cradled between the two cliff faces.

“Evelyn, what do your elf eyes see?” asked Shade as though it was some private joke.

I took the spyglass from my pocket and held it up to my eye, looking first north, then south. At the southern end of the canyon there sat some sort of edifice.

“There’s a building down that way,” I said, lowering the glass.

“Very descriptive,” said Shade.

“It’s too far to see clearly,” I snapped. I nearly handed the spyglass to Naddia, who stood closest to me, to let them each see for themselves, but came to my senses within the second and raised it to my eye again instead. “It’ll be a bit of a walk, but it’s not terribly far.”

We walked along the rift until we found a place where the slope was not quite so steep and a path could safely be picked down along the side into the gulch. There was no water or plant life at the bottom, which was not reassuring but not immediately problematic, as I—and, I assumed, my companions—still felt no thirst, hunger, or fatigue.

The building looked more like a great Greek temple, with giant pillars as big around as redwoods. I’d never seen the Parthenon with my own eyes in my time on Earth, but now I felt the sight would be underwhelming. The marble behemoth before us could not be rivaled by any creation of Man.

We climbed the steps to the open hall beyond the pillars, and found the place entirely empty except for a door and its frame standing alone and unattached in the center of the hall. Cautiously, we approached it. It looked to be made of one slab of steel, clashing with the classic marble structure which housed it.

Blaine, unhindered by the better judgment that plagued we three ladies, reached out and pushed at the door; it would not open. He walked around to the other side to try that way but the door still stood apart, unattached, and immovable.

Having seemingly lost interest, he walked away to explore the rest of the hall. Likewise, Naddia and Shade moved away.

I went back to the pillars to look out at the desert.

What had Eric seen in me, to take me under his wing? I had done nothing to either justify or honor that good will in my life. My performance in that first battle of the Patternfall War had been abysmal. In the aftermath, I’d run and hid. Upon my return, I’d followed a complete stranger to her private and unsecure Shadow, been abducted by a phantom Trump, and been transported to a desolate wasteland with no discernable method of escape. Why had Eric chosen to acknowledge and foster me, rather than ignore and dismiss me like the other offspring of his siblings? In turn his favor had won me the favor of others, and I had lived rather comfortably among them—all thanks to Eric.

A far-off memory surfaced, of a sailing picnic with some of my uncles and aunts. It had been one of those extremely rare occasions when there had been concord amongst them all, even if just for an afternoon. Caine, most menacing, had begun to sing as he adjusted the sails and coiled rope alongside Eric, who joined in. It seemed to remind them of happier times, because it made Deirdre and Random pause their game of checkers, it made Brand pause in his mad scribbling from where he sat on the stern; it made Florimel, standing on the pulpit, look back at them wistfully, her sunset-gold hair whipping around her face.

Caine’s rich baritone rolled like the waves with words that Corwin may or may not have written; _Sing me a song of a lad that is gone, Say, could that lad be I? Merry of soul he sailed on a day, Over the sea to Skye…_

Eric, on the other hand, had a voice to fill great halls, and Random’s lilting tone befit his motley dress.

_Give me again all that was there,_   
_Give the sun that shone!_   
_Give me the eyes, give me the soul,  
Give me the lad that’s gone!_

I hummed to myself as I surveyed the cusp of the ravine above. “ _Sing me a song of a lass that is gone, Say, could that lass be I? Merry of soul she sailed on a day, Over the sea to Skye…_ ”

I saw movement on the slope, and was so startled I nearly dropped my handy Weather-Eye. I turned and scrambled behind the nearest pillar, then peeked out to peer again at the sight. Four figures, too far off to be seen clearly with the glass or at all without, were making their way down into the valley. I turned to see who was still in the hall.

Shade stood near the door to nowhere. I snapped my fingers at her to get her attention and motioned frantically for her to come over. As she approached, I lined up the glass on the intruders and gestured that Shade should look.

The four of us huddled behind the pillar and took turns checking on the progress of the newcomers until they started to close in on the temple. They seemed to be made of smoke and shadow, condensed into humanoid form.

“Fall back,” said Shade, handing me my glass. She shoved Naddia towards the door and hissed “Fall back, fall back!”

We moved to stand in the middle of the hall, near the door, with enough elbow room between us should footwork become necessary. I quickly began adjusting my hair to keep it out of my face. Shade pulled a dagger from her boot and tossed it to me, then looked me over skeptically. Whatever she’d heard about my battle prowess, I’m sure I looked completely inept, dressed as I was. She pressed her lips together, concerned, and procured a twin knife from the other boot and handed it over gently.

I stuck one of the blades in my own boot and the other in my belt, behind my back. Our visitors entered silently, weapons drawn, and as they approached they fanned out. I heard a soft _click_ as Blaine released the catch that kept his sword secure in its scabbard.

I raised my hands in greeting (and to give the impression that they were empty), saying “Hello! We’re a bit lost. Could you help us?”

Unanswering, they came upon us one on one. The biggest of them approached me, because my life is enchanted, and swung his longsword down in an overhead strike. I took a few steps back to counter this advance-lunge and took the dagger from my belt to block. He was stronger than me, with a larger, heavier weapon, so I had to hold mine with both hands to keep from being sliced in two. I kicked and got the heel of my shoe directly on the meaty side of his left thigh, sending him stumbling backwards and giving me a chance to retrieve the second dagger from my boot. He attacked again, this time bringing the blade up from the side. I ducked and struck the blade to add to its leftward momentum and slashed at my attacker’s chest. He dodged and stepped back, then beckoned me with a gesture that clearly said ‘Your turn.’

I huffed out a nervous laugh, fairly out of breath. I was incredibly lucky I hadn’t tripped over my own skirt—not to mention the constrictive cut of the bodice, particularly in the shoulders, and my somewhat impractical shoes. Even the clip holding back my hair was more decorative than functional.

Eric’s voice was in my ears— _‘No more complaining, no more excuses. You’re the best, so I demand nothing less from you. They’ll be bigger, so you’ll be smarter.’_

I took a defensive stance.

“No, you come to me.”

He lunged with a left-handed strike, forcing me to depend on my weaker left side as well. I managed to knock his blade aside and get in a stab at his right shoulder. He narrowly escaped this attack, but as he attempted some fancy footwork around me to get in my blind spot, his foot caught in my skirt and he tripped; as he stumbled, he tried to kick himself free but instead, the fabric ripped and he fell hard on the floor. Legs suddenly free, I didn’t hesitate to kicked his sword from his hand and pounce, dagger poised to lance his throat—but the instant he was disarmed, he evaporated, leaving me to come down hard on the cold marble. I involuntarily rolled onto my back, clutching my right knee, which seemed to tremble like a gong, and gasping for air.

There was an ongoing commotion near me; when I had my breath, I sat up just in time to see Shade knocked unconscious by the hilt of her foe. Naddia slew him before more damage could be done. I staggered to my feet and went to kneel over Shade.

“Can you help her?” asked Naddia.

I checked her scalp for open wounds, careful not to move her too much. I had seen my fair share of sparring injuries and a few more brutal battle wounds. I could stitch a cut and spot a concussion, but I was no physician. Other than a cut on her hand she seemed fine. “I think she’ll be okay…we just have to let her come around.”

As if on cue, Shade groaned. She rolled onto her side, clutching her head.

“I hate this place,” she mumbled as she sat up. “This makes no _sense_ ,” she growled as she stood.

“Hey, take it easy,” I warned her.

She went to the door and pounded on it. “ _Open up, damn you!_ ”

“Shade—”

Screaming obscenities, she slapped her open hand against the door, then jumped back, yelping. “Fuck, that stings!”

“Yeah, because you’re bleeding, idiot,” I said. I tore off a small strip off my already destroyed skirt and took Shade’s hand to wrap it.

There was a great creaking sound, and the door, with Shade’s red palmprint on it, swung slowly open. Beyond it, blackness and a chill, damp wind.

Shade sighed. “Blood magic, my favorite.”

Naddia, spear in hand, stepped through first. She was careful as a hunter stalking a doe. Blaine went next, with me close behind, and then Shade brought up the rear. Before us was total darkness.

“I can barely see—” Naddia began, but was interrupted by the door swinging shut behind us and plunging us into a void; “—anything.”

I fumbled for Weather-Eye. I adjusted the focus and through it I could see a dim, sea-green image of the place. There were tunnels splitting off from where we stood. I turned the focus to a longer range and could see right through the mountain.

“Well we’re definitely in Shadow now,” I said. “I can see a way out. Here,” I took whatever hand was nearest to me, “line up and put your hand on the shoulder of the person in front of you. Try not to trip, there are rocks everywhere.” Using this system, we trudged through the tunnel, occasionally having to pause to navigate pits.

At one point, the hand on my shoulder tensed and its owner froze. I felt it too; a sudden pain clawed insistently at the back of my neck and it took everything in me to keep the Empty Trump from swallowing me whole. I reached up to grab the hand on my shoulder and then the squeezing pressure of the call was gone. We all breathed sighs of relief.

“We need to get back to Amber,” I said. “As much as I hate to say it, we have to go back. Nowhere else is safe just now.”

As we neared the exit and were able to see a bit by the light we broke the chain. We emerged from the mouth of the cave to find ourselves amid a rocky, unforgiving mountainside. Judging from the cold, thin air the altitude was high. Below us, the landscape looked harsh. Some trees dotted the slope the further down it went and a dark, menacing forest filled the basin between where we stood and the peaks in the far distance.

I surveyed the scene with my scope and found it strange. “I can’t see into the next Shadow. I can see for leagues and leagues but I can’t see out of this world.”

“Well,” Shade gestured down the slope, “only thing to do is start walking, I guess.”

There was a clearly laid path for us to take down the rock, and a distinct gap in the trees, very obviously planned out for us to take.

As we carefully picked our way along the path down the mountain, I had the sinking feeling that I was no longer in control of my fate, that I was walking into a trap but was doomed by dharma to march straight into it. Lack of agency is a feeling neither familiar nor comfortable for any of my blood.

Caine’s song murmured in my ear again: 

_Billow and breeze, islands and seas,_   
_Mountains of rain and sun,_   
_All that was good, all that was fair,  
All that was me is gone._


	6. Stranded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they are well and truly stuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MpMwMDqOprc

The forest was strangely beautiful; the trees were tall, foreboding, almost ethereal. It almost reminded me of a broody, dark Arden, where I had spent many a day in my childhood with my cousins. Thinking of them caused a sad twinge. How angry would Martin be when he woke? Was Merlin okay? He’d been unconscious and possibly injured when I’d last seen him. He was a comforting presence I sorely needed at the moment, and I had no idea if he’d ever be there for me to return to.

“—make my own,” said Naddia, as Blaine and Shade went into the trees.

I was about to ask what I had missed while missing my guys, but then I had my answer: Blaine emerged from the trees, leading a saddled horse. So we could pull resources from neighboring Shadows, but not walk to them. Shade procured her own mount. Naddia took a bit longer, but conjured a finer creature than either of the strays they’d picked up, custom-made to her liking.

I liked horses well enough, but an unfortunate incident with Julian’s steed Morgenstern at a young age had left me with a healthy wariness of them and a pickiness about which I chose to interact with.

I stepped off the path for a moment and came around the other side of a tree pushing along my Chappelli. Another gift from Eric, and I adored it; cream-colored, with sky-blue detailing, dark leather saddle and handle grip, with a Nantucket basket fixed to the front and a mount for strapping down luggage on the back. By some strange luck, it had been very fashionable in that Shadow Earth I’d been living in—as fashionable as a bicycle can be, that is.

As I tested the brakes and checked to be sure the chain was secure, my three companions grew quiet. I glanced up to see them all looking at me from their mounts. “What?”

“All it’s missing,” said Shade, “is a bell and some ribbons on the handlebars.”

I swung my leg over the bike and was thankful that my skirt had ripped above the knee, the easier to maneuver this little beauty.

“You’re _really_ going to ride that thing?” Shade laughed. “It’ll take weeks.”

“Don’t wait up for me—I certainly won’t wait for you.”

“Right, fair enough.”

I flipped the kickstand back and shot off. My footcycle could outstrip any horse, any day, and it didn’t need rest or water.

Suddenly, the forest shifted so abruptly that the transition jolted me and I skidded. I fell, hard, and slid over dirt and pebbles and right into a tree.

When I caught my breath I sat up and leaned back against the aforementioned tree. I picked grit out of my palms and waited for the others to catch up.

It was late spring here, or early summer; it was warm and sunny. From the look of the rough road through the wood and the village I could see through my glass, this Shadow was in its pre-Renaissance phase. Hopefully also pre-pandemic. Under other circumstances, I might have enjoyed taking a holiday in such a place. It was simpler, and quieter, without the technologies and amenities of the modern world I’d left so recently. I had just the Shadow in mind, too.

Before too long, Naddia galloped onto the scene. The horse sensed the problem before she did, and she looked confused as it stamped the ground and snorted and refused to go on. Then she saw me.

“What’s going on?”

“Hell if I know.” I pointed in the general direction of north. “We’re in a different Shadow but about ten miles that way, it just stops. And ten that way, and that way, and that way.”

“What stops?”

“The Shadow.”

“How is that possible?”

Shade and Blaine suddenly stumbled into sight, mounts shying at the odd atmosphere of the fenced-in Shadow, and nearly colliding with Naddia. After the three of them had sorted themselves out, Shade demanded “What’s going on?”

Naddia looked at me and I stood, pointed north and said, “About ten miles that way, it just stops. And ten that way, and that way, and that way.”

“What stops?”

“The Shadow.”

“How is that possible?”

“Why does this happen to me?” I asked the trees; they did not answer.

 

* * *

 

As we approached the end of the wood, a thorn bush scraped against my leg and snagged my torn skirt, drawing my attention to an obvious issue.

“Wait—” I grabbed Blaine’s sleeve, as he was closest to me. “We can’t go into the village dressed like this.” I looked at his outfit, which was actually rather period appropriate. “All right, fine, well you can—” I looked at the futuristically imperial Shade and Naddia the ninja, “but neither of you,” I looked down at my torn skirt and my disheveled blouse, “and not I.”

The odds of finding appropriate clothing on the other side of a tree, I decided, were in my favor; and so they were. I turned back to the group to see that Shade and Naddia had had similar luck to mine. They were looking at Blaine with apprehension, for some reason.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“We’ll have to find a changing room,” said Naddia. “I’ll take care of it—”

I simply stepped behind a tree and stripped out of my ruined clothes and put on the fresh ones. It was a rather plain arrangement, but it was comfortable and had laces down the front of the bodice to adjust the fit as desired. The hooded traveling cape matched; I would have liked a little more color in my ensemble, but it had a rustic sort of charm to it.

I sat down on an obtrusive root to tie my boots as Shade took her turn in the changing booth Naddia had summoned from somewhere. Prudes.

Once we were all properly attired and I had stashed my bike, we continued. It was getting on twilight, and darkening quickly. I wasn’t sure what kind of wildlife the woods boasted, and I’d rather not be caught at night unawares. Luckily, the inn wasn’t far at all.

It was a moderately sizable establishment from the outside. It was mismatched and patched in various places, as though it was not the work of one architect but many builders over many years, using the tools and styles of their own time to make the additions. Inside, it looked well-used and well-loved; the wooden floor was scuffed, the pub counter was scratched, and the tables and chairs scattered about the room were mismatched. Off in one corner, a man played a lute and sang a ballad, with most of the patrons of the establishment gathered about him, listening. It was quaint, and I found it to be a pleasant relief. From their faces, it seemed Blaine and Shade didn’t share this sentiment. Naddia slipped back outside.

The barkeep slung a dish rag over his shoulder and set down the mug he’d been drying, saying “Welcome, friends. What might we do for ye?”

“Ale,” said Blaine. I kicked him under the counter. “Please,” he added lamely.

I turned back to the barman and smiled brightly at him, hoping to distract him from my sour-faced companions. “Thank you, sir. We are travelling to see family, but lost our way in the wood. We’re desperate for some food and drink.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Naddia reenter and approach. She took a coin purse and plopped it on the counter unceremoniously. “A round for the house, on me. And anything my companions require.”

This made us quite popular, though the extra attention only seemed to make Shade and Blaine more uncomfortable. Blaine dealt with this by ordering one of each item on the menu and tucking in with enthusiasm I had never seen him display before and probably never would again. Shade requested an unreasonable amount of food as well, while both Naddia and I placed more sane orders. We ate quietly, at the bar.

The others in the tavern seemed to be locals and know one another. They chatted amiably, or cheered (and jeered) at the bard, or played cards and dice.

“So we got bumped into this place,” Naddia recounted, “and we can’t shift out…and we can’t _see_ out. So…what do we do now?”

“Well if I don’t get out of Hobbiton here soon I’m going to burn it down,” said Shade.

“That would be inadvisable,” Blaine cautioned.

“I want to get out of here as much as you do, but we are not going to lose our heads,” I told Shade sternly.

“I’m not taking orders from you, Princess,” she sneered.

“If you did maybe we wouldn’t be here at all— _Alexandria_.”

Shade drew a knife and Naddia grabbed her wrist to still her, hissing “Shade! Heel!”

“Where did you hear that name?” Shade demanded.

“You’re in the genealogy book,” I said. “I looked each of you up the day I met you. That one,” I pointed at Blaine, “is eight months old by Amber time. Her?” Naddia. “She’s a professional art thief, there are warrants out on her in six different Shadows—and _hits_ in two.”

“What about Shade?” asked Naddia, fascinated.

“Shade,” I said, staring said cousin down, “is the daughter of Fiona of Amber and Mandor Sawall of the Courts. Twenty-third in line to the throne of the Courts. There’s a formal portrait of her, in a gown. She’s a _countess_.”

“Stop.”

“And betrothed.”

Shade scoffed. “Who isn’t?”

“I’m not.”

“Of course you’re not,” spat Shade, “if you chose between Martin and Merlin you’d have to stop _fucking one of them_.”

I took my drink and left. I approached a pair of men standing at the back of the audience; the one spotted me over his friend’s shoulder and they both turned to greet me.

“Hello,” I said, slipping on a sweet smile. “My name is Evelyn.”

Both the blokes smiled in return and we struck up a convivial conversation. They were an age bracket or so above me, but on Earth I’d found that I was more often than not such a man’s “type.” Within minutes I knew a great deal about the nearby town and its customs, as well as my two gentlemen friends.

“You do not travel alone,” observed one, surveying Blaine in particular with some suspicion.

“Yes, I am with my cousins.”

“Have you been abroad long?” asked the other.

“It seems like a great while,” I confessed. “It will be nice to rest in a familiar place awhile.”

“To be with family is the greatest comfort,” the older of the two declared sagely. I nodded politely, without even a wince at the effort. “I am the fourth generation of my name here in Calverton,” he informed me. “And there are two more after me already.”

“Your wife must be a very proud grandmother, with such ancestry.”

“She was,” he said. Oops; time to go.

The lute player finished another song and was answered with light applause. I excused myself, insisting that I must compliment the songster on his skill. As I made my way over to the man—whose name was Francis, I had learned—I glanced back at the bar. Blaine had gone, and Naddia was just coming back in the door. She went to Shade and they huddled together, conversing.

I remarked to another local on the beautiful trees in the area, which he found personally flattering, for some reason. I sat and listened with courteous interest, however, as he expounded the many virtues of the region. I learned that we were the only travelers in the area at the moment, and the first to pass through in some time, which explained why the locals were so eager to chat me up; I was a fresh face.

My shoulder was nudged so roughly I nearly spilled what remained of my drink. “If you could wrap up the ice cream social, milady,” said Shade, “we need to discuss travel plans.” With absolutely no ado she left, following Naddia out the front door.

“Excuse me.” I set down my mug and picked up my cloak as I stood. I only just then realized how many admirers I’d collected through my fact-finding. I suppressed a pleased smirk, and instead tried to look demure. “It was lovely getting to know you gentlemen.”

Francis patted my shoulder sympathetically, looking after Shade.

I went outside. My cousins were waiting for me by a stone well in the yard. Blaine was washing his face and hands in the wooden bucket sitting on its wall.

“What was _that_ about?” Shade sneered.

“I was trying to find out where the hell we are and why we’re trapped here. What was your _pouting_ about?”

Naddia slipped back inside as Shade and I bickered. She returned with a small satchel full of cured meat and a canteen.

I took another look around with the spyglass and saw that the border around the Shadow still stood, all-enveloping and with no discernible path through. As I searched for a way out, Shade realized she could summon her dire wolf and promptly did so.

Since there was no obvious next step, we simply picked a direction, mounted up, and rode off.

About ten miles out from the inn, through the woods and over hills, we came to the edge of a cliff, which dropped down into a foggy, dark abyss. The mists wound upwards like a cruel infestation of multiflora rose, and maybe ten feet from the verge whatever might lay beyond was engulfed entirely in murk.

Blaine picked up a long stick and held it out so that the end of it was lost in the haze. When he pulled it back, we saw that the end had actually been lost; it was as though it had been lopped off expertly, with no splintering or roughness. It was simply gone.

“It may be that returning from the fog is forbidden, but entering it is harmless,” he said.

“ _May_ be. The only way to find out would be to try it, and I want the promise of a mulligan first,” said Shade. She looked at her wolf, as though struck with a sudden thought. “I could send Garm in.”

“If it is required of me, I shall go, ma’am.” The only indication of apprehension on the part of the creature was a faint downward splaying of the ears.

“No, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“We could walk along the edge, see if we come to a bridge or a gate of some sort,” said Naddia.

I shook my head. “I didn’t see any such thing with the glass.” I heaved a great sigh. The labyrinth of Shadow realms had lost its novelty. Before long I could even be yearning for a good quarrel with Flora.

Naddia frowned academically and extended a hand, palm out, towards the fog. “I wonder if—” As though hit with a flying cannonball, she was thrown backward and landed on the ground with a sickening _thud_. Swearing profusely, I dropped to my knees next to her but was hesitant to touch her.

Her eyes were open but rolled back. I couldn’t see if there were lights flashing in them—though I’m sure from her vantage there were—but she was twitching spastically and gasping for breath, which didn’t hold with the catalepsy induced by the Empty Trump.

“I think she’s all right,” I said. “We just have to wait for her to come to.”

We sat, and waited.

It didn’t take long; once she’d recovered enough to sit up and talk, Naddia explain that she had attempted to use knowledge of the Pattern to manipulate the barricade, the consequence of which felt like electrocution.

We had exhausted options and information available to us, and it had yielded nothing.

“What do we do now?” asked Blaine.

Shade shrugged, replying, “We are well and truly stuck.”

“We are well and truly stuck,” I agreed.


	7. Five Months, Two Weeks, Two Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a surprise guest star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qqSifkCS42s

The new bard preferred the gittern to the lute. He wasn’t any better or worse than Francis, in my opinion, but Shade’s first act as the new innkeeper had been to dismiss the poor man and have a well-known talent shipped in.

I set a mug down in front of a forlorn bloke slumped onto the bar. “Here, Hewitt.”

“Bless ye, Miss Ev’lyn,” he said, grabbing it and taking a gulp. He sputtered. “What is this?!”

“It’s water. Drink it and go home.”

“Beer!”

“Miranda’s too smart to think she can feed four children as a seamstress on her own,” I said. “She’ll take you back. Drink the water, go home.”

“Miss Ev’lyn!”

“You’re welcome.” I moved to attend a newcomer. “Hello, Will.”

“Hello, Miss Evelyn.” Will removed several impeccably-wound, beautiful skeins of yarn from his satchel and set them on the bar. “I have your order here.”

“Oh, your mother’s an artist.” I picked up a silvery purple and admired the expert skill. “So even. Tightly wound, yet so soft. Beautiful. I thought your father would bring them to the faire tomorrow, I don’t have the payment on me. Let me run and get it.”

“No,” said Will quickly, “Mother said it was a gift. She’ll not take your money, Miss Evelyn.” It was a gift because Will was a bit sweet on me and I could stitch a stocking faster and better than any girl in this godforsaken Shadow—which, though not quite “fastest draw in the West,” is a most desirable quality when you’re a farmer’s wife considering your son’s prospects.

After it had become clear that we were powerless to leave this place, the four of us returned to Calverton and occupied ourselves; Shade had won the inn from the previous owner in a truly intense game of cards, then employed him as the manager. Blaine had disappeared into the woods and only returned every so often to barter animal pelts and firewood for supplies. Naddia was living in a treehouse and making such mischief with her utility belt and her sorcery that it was whispered—sometimes shouted—that she was a witch; she’d conjured pixies and fairy rings, futuristic guns and toy helicopters that flew when you cranked their handles, even two-headed snakes and jellyfish that floated through the air. In addition to this, she regularly jinxed the townspeople, changing yellow hair to brown, turning freckles bright blue, switching voices between people—and sometimes squirrels—that would only revert to the natural order when a secret word was spoken. Her victims would sometimes have to rattle off nonsense for days until the keyword was uttered. Shade set Garm to keep an eye on her, as well as Blaine, and report back every day’s activity. It was not out of familial concern and affection, I knew—neither, I thought, was Blaine’s tendency to pass a chilly night at Naddia’s cottage in the forest out of cousinly fondness. Though I doubted Blaine could muster up enough gusto to engage with a woman in real conversation, let alone coitus.

I’d had some difficulty in finding occupation in Calverton. There was no need for many of my skills; even the wealthier families didn’t have a notion of what you might call a governess, so teaching the maidenly arts I knew would not yield enough of an income to live on. As it all shook out, I ended up tending the bar at Shade’s inn, and gave largely informal instruction in said arts as a side gig. It paid about enough to keep me stocked in the supplies for it, but there was no reason for me to save up money, really, when I wasn’t going anywhere and wasn’t nearing retirement age anytime soon.

As for the free yarn… I appreciated the gift—and, should I remain trapped here forever, might see a virtue in the stability and provision Will could offer for a time—but it felt too much like charity.

“A trade, then,” I suggested. “Liesel still likes the bandura?”

“She loves it,” he assured me.

“Two free lessons.” The greatest virtue of this harp-cousin is that it is fairly quiet. Wonderful to teach.

The door to the office opened and Shade strode into the taproom, hands full of receipts and orders. She came over to me and starting laying them out on the counter.

“The master of ceremonies won’t be here until tomorrow, but his deputy will be here later today to settle the bill for the kegs we’re donating to the festival—”

“It’s not a donation if they’re paying for it,” I said.

“It is the way I do it.” She looked at Will. Though he was quite a bit taller than her and of a healthy build, she could have leveled him with a sharp word. “Don’t you have a chicken to strangle or something?” Turning red, Will mumbled a hasty farewell and left. “The ale sells better when the men think you’re single,” she told me.

“Well, it’s certainly not your lovely company that draws them in.” The light filtering in through the window was starting to look more gold than the unforgiving white of day. I tugged at the tie of my apron and pulled it off, then stashed it under the counter. “I’m off.” I let myself out from behind the bar and went to the door.

“Off where?” Shade asked as I took my cloak down from a hook.

“There’s a lot to do before the ceremony at dawn.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ah, yes, your Catechism class.”

“Make sure Hewitt gets home.”

Outside, the sun was warm but the air was chill. Calverton was in the thick of autumn, and it would be a short one, for winter was clearly lurking just out of sight. More than once we’d woken to frosted vegetable patches and an iced-over fountain in the square. It couldn’t officially be winter until their druid priests declared it so, however, and it couldn’t be winter until the proper rituals and formalities had been observed to mark the end of their liturgical year.

Theirs was a nature-based, goddess religion, and it was generally a quiet part of their lives, though integral. The most gossipy citizens of the town were apparently also the most pious, so I’d seen the wisdom of joining their ranks almost immediately after taking up residence here, and had spent the last four months or so fostering useful friendships. I knew a great deal about the town and the people, their history and their culture, the brewing scandals and their likely outcomes. Shade thought I was simply desperate for the social contact, but between those saintly sewing circles and tending the bar at the inn, I could publish an ethnographic study on the place.

Despite my research, I was no closer to escape from this Shadow than on the day I’d stumbled upon it and sprung the trap. I still knew next to nothing about the border that imprisoned us—none of us did. We kept an eye and an ear out for anyone leaving the confines of this boundary, and whenever such occasions arose, the four of us would gather and observe from some hidden vantage point, usually in a tree. Nothing new was ever gleaned, though it did give us a regular opportunity to meet, all together, and share whatever information we had. Shade had taken to bringing snacks.

As much as I disliked and distrusted my cousins, it was nice to be able to speak the word _Amber_. It kept the hope alive, however flickering, that we would return there someday and life would begin to make sense again.

I was forced to draw myself out of my own musings as I neared the small gathering of people in the orchard at the edge of the forest, where we would gather apples for the Harvest Festival. I was greeted with cheer and handed a wicker basket.

The religious ceremony would be at the crack of dawn, and followed by festivities that would extend well into the night and include the grand arrival of the “Harvest Queen.” Apples were a significant symbol at this time of year, and would be involved in both the rites and the revels, so we would have to stay out here until dark and pick the orchard clean.

“Miss Evelyn, look!” a little girl who’d taken to me for some reason showed me a butterfly she’d caught in her hands.

“How pretty! Careful, though, don’t crush his wings.” The poor thing already seemed in some distress, but I could hardly snatch it away from her—the character of ‘Miss Evelyn’ did not believe children were a menace.

A girl just a few years older than me, who was part of the planning committee for just about every aspect of the festival, approached me, lugging a basket that was already full. “Evelyn, could you man the craft table tomorrow? You’re just so good with the children.”

 

* * *

 

Dawn was just as miserable as is to be expected, and the service as tedious as must be imagined. At least I got to look forward to showing a continual rotation of children how to fold corn husk dolls and wrap string around small hoops to make dream catchers.

The early evening brought a strange excitement to the town; it started as a sort of buzz of general awareness, which increased as a line of torchlight came into sight in the woods and eventually a parade of official-looking drunkenness emerged and wound its dancing way towards the village. Their path, I knew, would take them to the square, and the Harvest Queen would proclaim the year ended and the dancing begun. This year’s queen came from a village on the other side of the mystic border, Halverton. It was an honor for the whole town—second only to being the site of the parade’s final destination.

People began to gravitate towards the village square. I packed up what craft supplies were left from the day’s torment, and then I heard a wooden stool topple over and children shouting as two boys fought over the last bit of blue string.

“Sam! Luke!” I tried to pull the one boy off the other. “Stop this nonsense immediately!” It was several minutes before they were pulled apart and had stopped trying to lunge at one another. I gave them a good telling-off and sent them on the way home—and luckily, they lived in opposite directions. The rest of the brood dispersed as well, clutching their meaningless creations as though made of gold.

As I made my way to the square, I rubbed my temples. I needed a drink, desperately. I spotted Shade and Naddia standing near the kegs and cursed to myself.

_How many obstacles must I pass before I can get a fucking drink?_

But something was strange—they looked uneasy. I followed their line of sight and saw the woman who clearly was the Harvest Queen, with a wreath of autumn leaves, wheat, and ferns resting on her dark hair. She was greeting party-goers and spreading the autumnal cheer—and then she turned, and my heart stopped.

Without a conscious decision to do so, I pushed and wound my way through the crowd to get to her. Family courtesy forbid me from announcing myself to her, or confronting her openly, as a child of Amber. It had not been established whether or not this courtesy should be extended to the dead.

Deirdre finished speaking to an intoxicated merchant and turned to me, clasping my hand and smiling vibrantly. “Merry met—” Her face froze when she saw me, for only an instant. “A good new year to you.” The smile didn’t touch her eyes now; she knew me. When I didn’t return the pleasantry, she leaned close, whispered, “Later,” and moved on to the next person.

She was here, and herself, against all odds. How?

_There were no bodies_ , I thought suddenly. _No one saw any bodies._

I’d had my suspicions about Deirdre; she was too beloved to be entirely innocent—and I should know, for I was also beloved and I was a scheming bitch. Her loyalty in question, I had not wept for her when she’d fallen into the abyss. Seeing her alive, impossibly, and appearing in splendor in the Shadow I’d been hopelessly trapped in for nearly half a year, only served to sharpen those suspicions.

_If she’s alive, Brand is alive_. The idea was like a punch to my gut, and the ensuing lack of breath triggered a panic in me so sharp that I barely was able to stumble away from the crowds to a deserted alleyway and sit down on the cobblestone, a stack of crates hiding me from the street. I curled up with my knees under my chin and had a very quiet anxiety attack.

My fingers, then my hands, tingled and went numb and my vision blurred. More than once since the siege I’d woken in a cold sweat from nightmares of wyverns descending or being crushed under boots in the mud,  my mad uncle running me through, or strangling me, even drowning once or twice. Brand was responsible for the death of the only father I ever knew, of the destruction of my world and my way of life. I’d known him all my life—he’d given me daisies every year on my birthday—and he’d tried to kill me and everyone I knew. He was a menace, a threat to existence itself.

“Evelyn?”

I jumped. Naddia stepped gingerly into the alley, peering around the crates. She looked concerned.

“Go away,” I snapped.

She looked taken aback, then she forged ahead; “You seem upset—”

“ _Leave me alone!_ ”

She flinched and took a few steps away, then stopped, looked back, and said “I hope you’re okay,” then skittered off.

A frustrated growl turned into a shout as I grabbed the nearest crate and threw it against the opposite wall, splintering it. Naddia was such a _mouse_ , I just wanted to _step on her_.

“I’m gonna twist her tail and rip her little whiskers out! _Rrrahgh!_ ” A woven basket bounced off the building and rolled away down the alley, scattering its bounty of empty corn husks. “Nothing makes _sense_!”

I clutched my head and forced myself to breathe. The foundations of the universe were falling apart, but that didn’t mean I could too. Once I had the breathing under control, I unraveled my braid and wove it together again, then got up and went to a rain barrel at the end of the alley to wash my face. Solidly reconstructed, I made my way back to the square. I skirted the crowd, trying to get to the inn. I caught Shade’s eye and gestured to the inn as I went in.

She followed, and just inside the door she confronted me. The taproom was empty, so we had no worry of being overheard.

“What was that?” she demanded.

“I don’t know, we’ll find out later. She’ll speak to us tonight, and we’re not letting her go without answers.”

“What did she say to you?”

“Nothing.” I turned to head for the stairs.

Shade grabbed my arm. “No, no, no, I saw you talking to her, what did she say?”

“Let go!” I shook her off. Why did she always think she was in command? “Nothing was said, I’m serious. She simply said ‘later.’ You can take my word for it, or you can shove it up your ass—now if you’ll excuse me.” I left her there in the empty hall, and went up to my room to wait. I cleaned myself up properly, I went outside to return to the faire for appearance’s sake. Once there, I fell in with a group of people I’d become friendly with and tried to socialize normally, all the while keeping an eye on Deirdre.

After a time, her companions dispersed and she was alone for a moment. I excused myself from my own circle and went to her. The crowd was breaking up in the square; people were either going home or into the inn, the chill of the night air having set a damper on the party. Deirdre had fulfilled her duties and was released from her offices now, so we could talk.

Her mouth tightened and her eyes threw shade at me as I approached and stood next to her. “I said later.”

“It is later.”

“Later is when I say.”

“I’ve been trapped in your little snowstorm for nearly six months, I’m done waiting on you,” I snapped. “Tell me what’s going on, how you’re alive, and how to get out of here.”

“Months? You’ve been here for _months_?” She looked genuinely surprised. “I’m so sorry, Evelyn! It was meant to be just a few hours, maybe a day.”

A drunk stumbled past us, pausing to bow before us. “Such beauty and viv…vivacitit...ily.”

“Go home, Hewitt.”

Deirdre stepped closer to me and lowered her voice. “You have waited longer than you should have been made to,” she said, “but I promise that was not intentional.”

“How can I know that?”

“You’ll just have to trust me."

“I can’t do that—you’re family.”

She didn’t dispute me on that point. “Go inside, go up to the room they rented for me—last door on the left. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

I nodded and went to get the others.

If Deirdre was alive, could others be so too? Could Osric live? Could Finndo? Was this an unknown power of their generation? Corwin had once grown a new set of eyes, which seemed impossible at the time. Maybe they truly _were_ immortal.

We went to the room reserved for Deirdre. Before long, the door opened and she entered.

“First, I must apologize; I did not intend for you to spend such a long time here. I only meant for it to be a few hours.”

“But why did you set a trap for us?” asked Naddia.

“For your own safety. Brand is alive.” I felt my stomach drop. “He has no body, but you see how little that hinders him.”

“How?” Blaine inquired.

“When we fell into the abyss together, our bodies were destroyed, but Brand somehow preserved our consciousness. I don’t think he meant to save me, but my proximity to him when he died tied me to him in a way. He’s been gathering strength ever since, to make his next move.”

It was Shade’s turn to question. “And what is that?”

“He wants to finish what he started. He wants to erase the Pattern.” Deirdre studied each of us. “But he needs a body to do it.”

Blaine leaned forward, setting his elbows on the table. “So he’s the one who’s been targeting us? Probing us? Why, why not Random or Fiona—someone with more power, better position?”

“Because he doesn’t want to risk being defeated, maybe? He probably thinks one of you younger children of Amber will be easier to take down. He already has two of you, so he may be right. He’ll likely keep taking whoever he can until he has what he needs.”

Deirdre explained that Martin and Garth were comatose still only because Brand had not figured out how to go about possessing them just yet; he was keeping them on ice until he could make use of them. To them, however, they were trapped in that murky nothingness I had found myself in between leaving Onyx and arriving in Amber months ago. But Brand wanted all of us, so, even with the son of the king and a Herculean shapeshifter at his disposal, he tried to sweep the board at Blaine’s Patternwalk. He’d planned, Deirdre said, to simply salvage what he liked from us and take whichever body yielded first.

The Pattern, she said, had sent us to that desert landscape we’d wandered about in before coming to Calverton; it was trying to keep us safe from Brand, for purposes of self-preservation.

Having been forced to do his bidding for all this time (I wondered if she’d truly been forced) Deirdre had intimate knowledge of Brand’s activities, but not their remedies.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how to release Martin or Garth. If they are still dormant, however, that is good; it means he hasn’t succeeded with them yet. Although to be honest, I wonder if he’s still trying.”

“What do you mean?” asked Naddia.

“Garth has little more than his brute strength to recommend him; that’s not what Brand needs,” said Deirdre. “And as clever as Martin is, we all know who’s the grand prize of the generation.”

“Where is Merlin?” I asked. “Do you know? Is he still with Corwin? Is he safe?” Merlin was the prime specimen for Brand to steal; warning him and protecting him should be a priority.

“I’m not sure he’s in danger; Brand has not even tried to take him on yet, I don’t think.”

Blaine, suddenly talkative tonight, interjected. “How do we stop Brand?”

Deirdre looked at him for a moment, then seemed to wilt slightly. “I’m not sure you can." 

I had a question that I didn’t want to ask, so I closed my eyes and bit my tongue. “If Brand can come back…” I began, then stopped. I wished I could have spoken to Deirdre in private. “Can others as well?”

She studied me for a moment. “Brand was preparing for physical death for a very long time.”

That was that, then; Brand was a greater student of sorcery than even Fiona. None could match him in knowledge or skill. If anyone else could, it was Dworkin—and both of them were stark raving mad, so there you go.

Naddia, who had been silent for a while, asked quietly, “Can he be killed?”

“I don’t know,” Deirdre admitted. “If he can, it could only be with the Jewel of Judgment. Nothing else could stand against his madness. And, I believe, no child of his father’s could stand against him. They’ve already put all their combined might against him and he still prevailed. One…one of the children must do this.”

To learn the use of the Jewel was a rare and difficult thing…and it would mark one as a potential crown-wearer, in a way. The need to find Merlin grew greater by the moment.

“I have to go,” Deirdre said, and she stood suddenly. “He’ll know I’ve gone soon.”

Shade got to her feet quickly. “Wait! How do we get out of here?”

“The borders will collapse as soon as I’m gone, and then you can leave when and how you like—but do not tarry, this Shadow will begin to break down as well. It was never meant to stand this long.”  Outside, thunder grumbled. Deirdre grabbed the nearest hand—mine. “Can I—can I ask something of you?”

“What is it?” inquired Blaine.

“The Abyss—it’s Hell,” she said. Her voice trembled. “There are creatures in the mist, other souls and Others. You cannot breathe, you cannot move. It—help me, please. If you can, free me. Or kill me.” She was gone.

We stood there in the room, looking at one another a bit flabbergasted; it was a lot of information to take in all at once.

All at once, we scrambled for the door and ran down the corridor, down the stairs, and out the back door into a torrential downpour. Now that we were free to go, we were _going_. We sprinted to the stables, where I retrieved my bike from an unused stall as they saddled their horses. My skirt was too long to ride in, so I had to hike some of it up and tuck it in my belt.

“I’m off,” I said to them. “And I’m going straight fucking there—you can follow my wake, I’m not waiting.”

“Wait!” said Naddia as she fixed the length of a stirrup.

“What did I _just say_?”

“You can’t go alone, what if something happens? Here, I’m ready;” She turned to Blaine and tossed him an amulet of some sort. “You two follow—this will help.”

The two of us led our respective mounts out and climbed on. I put foot to pedal as she set heel to flank and we took off like a pair of rockets.

It was not an especially long trek, but hellriding is never easy. When the rain let up and the smell of the trees and the constellations in the sky put us close to Arden, Naddia’s horse stumbled to a halt and heaved great breaths, sides foamy with sweat.

“He can’t go on like this,” she said as she dismounted. “We have to walk—well _I_ have to walk.”

“No, we should walk.” I stepped off my bike and let my skirt down. The extra fabric had made my belt uncomfortably tight. “We shouldn’t go charging all the way to the Castle as though the Moonriders are behind us. And we don’t know how long we’ve been gone, they may have thought us dead. We don’t want to get ourselves shot if we can help it.”

Though I wanted nothing more than to stop and catch my breath, I knew that if we faltered now we’d have to bed down for the night.

“I’m not familiar with this way,” Naddia said.

“Just follow me.” I knew that forest oak from elm.

Naddia led her horse and walked alongside me. She concerned herself with murmuring comfort and encouragement to the creature for a little while.

“It seems like you’ve spent a lot of time in Amber,” she ventured.

“I was born there.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. You seem to know what you’re doing Shadow-walking.”

“I didn’t say I never left it. I just never had a Hellrider phase.” After my Patternwalk I had done some exploring, yes, but I simply found Amber more interesting than anywhere else. That, of course, was back when I liked social politics.

“I grew up in Shadow,” Naddia volunteered. “Dad brought me in for my Patternwalk but we didn’t stay long.” I fought a rue smile. “What?”

“ ‘ _Dad_.’”

Naddia fussed with her horse again, avoiding looking at me. “I can’t help it that he’s my father.”

“You’d do well to stop reminding people of the fact,” I suggested. “It’s not helping your likeability.”

“I’m doing everything I can to please you people, why do you all hate me?”

I stopped and snapped at her, “ _Everything_ about you is Brand. You talk like him, you walk like him, you call him ‘Dad’ or very obviously want to every time you speak of him. Your clothes, your hair—it’s all Brand!”

She turned away. “I have more reason to hate him than any of you,” claimed she.

I could have stabbed her. “He killed my father!”

Naddia spun, shouting, “ _He killed my mother!_ And he killed my—” The words seemed to catch in her throat and she shook her head. “In front of me. To prove he could. To show me what Shadow people are. And so I hate him.”

Well, that was unexpected; it threw me for a loop. “I…I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want you to.” Naddia nudged her horse to get moving again. “And if you tell anyone else, I’ll kill you.”

“Or maybe I’ll kill you.”

“I guess we’ll see.” She walked ahead, putting several paces between us.

“Yes,” I said to myself. “We will.” I heard the whisper of rustling leaves above me but before I could look I was grabbed from behind and felt cold, sharp steel against my neck. “Drop your weapons!” I shouted at Naddia.

A cloaked figure appeared from behind a tree, startling Naddia’s horse, and tried to grab her. She slashed at them with a knife as the horse took off, and was disarmed for her trouble. She swung at them but was deflected and ended up on the ground with a knee in her back.

“Naddia, stop!” I shouted. “Stop, they’re Rangers! They’re just Rangers!”

My attacker lowered his blade. “Evelyn?”

I recognized the voice. “Ewan?”

The Ranger released me and turned me, pulling down his scarf. I punched him in the shoulder. “My lady!” he laughed. “Cavan, let her up, she’s of the House—You’re back in Amber?”

“As you see. Ewan, you scared the hell out of me!” I saw the insignia on the clasp of his cloak. “You’re a captain now?”

“As you see.”

Naddia came over to us. “You know him?”

“I know most of the Rangers, I grew up with them.” I looked around. “Where’s the rest?”

“Not far. We were scouting ahead.” Ewan gestured to the other man, who then walked off whistling a signal.

“How far are we from the city?” asked Naddia.

“Two days’ ride, at least. We’re on the other side of the canyon.” Naddia and I groaned. She kicked a root, swearing. “I’ll send a bird up for my Lord Julian.”

“How long will that take?”

“Calm down,” I told Naddia. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I _need_ to get away from you.”

“I deeply understand. Ewan, we’re grateful for your help.”

Ewan, ever kind and courteous, pretended not to notice our bickering. He looked beyond us and hailed his men. “Start a fire and bring me some bread. We have weary travelers here.”

The man who had tackled Naddia brought us bannocks. I saw his face and it caught me up for a second. I knew him; I didn’t know his name, but I had—well, known him.

“Thank you, ranger,” said Ewan pointedly, dismissing him.

They gave us blankets and situated us with food and water by their fire. Around us, they set up their camp as the golden afternoon turned to twilight.

“Where are the others?” Naddia asked, more to herself than me it sounded. “They should have been here ages ago.”

“Yes, they should have.”

They had said they weren’t hellriding, yes, but they certainly were taking their sweet time. I wondered if some misfortune had befallen them… No, one crisis at a time. First we had to warn Fiona and the king about Brand. Then, we had to find Merlin and lock him in a proverbial tower. _Then_ I would worry about Shade and Blaine.


	8. Open Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which one bad turn begets another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ZmN81Vcnns

 

It wasn’t yet full dark when the thundering sound of powerful hoofs began to creep up on us through the wood. Morgenstern, the great steed of Amber, came into sight and reined in just beyond the camp. Julian dismounted and strode over as we got to our feet. Not far behind him came Caine.

I inclined my head in respectful greeting and Julian nodded at me in response. Caine looked us over while Julian said, “I see you’re still alive, and seem unharmed. Where is my son? And Fiona’s girl?”

“We rode on ahead,” I told him. “They said they would follow, but we haven’t seen them yet.” Julian moved off to speak to Ewan.

Naddia asked Caine, “How long have we been gone?”

“Three days.”

“Uncle,” I said, catching his attention, “we need to speak to the King at once. Is Martin awake?” He shook his head. “Good, that’s—actually very good. We have to hurry.” I haphazardly folded the blanket I’d been wrapped in and handed it to the nearest ranger, who happened to be the one I knew somewhat. “I can’t thank you enough for your assistance, sir.” I turned to Ewan. “When you’re back in Amber, call on me and we can catch up—until then, please do write.” It would be useful to know what was happening all the way out here, when news could take quite a while to reach the general populace through the standard gossip channels.

“I will, of course. Safe travels.”

We made a quick and unceremonious departure; Julian went back to look for Shade and Blaine on foot, and Caine mounted the monstrous Morgenstern. Naddia climbed onto the horse Caine had rode in on. He offered me his hand, but I hesitated. Morgenstern and I were not friends, and I could tell from the look it fixed on me that it remembered as well as I.

“Come, Evelyn, I have him in rein.”

I let him pull me up onto the saddle, behind him, and held on for dear life. Morgenstern was crafted by Julian’s own hand and was faster than a train, and fiercer than a bobcat. Any creature with sense gave him a wide, wide berth. His path was always clear. Naturally, Naddia fell  behind; we reached the castle well before she did.

Caine jumped down immediately and helped me off (the damn beast is more than twenty hands high). He went to find Random and told me to fetch Fiona.

I took the stairs two at a time. I had to power through for just a few more minutes, I told myself, then I could have a proper rest.

As I neared the lab, the door flung open and Fiona stormed out. I skidded past her, nearly lost my footing, and then scrambled after her.

“Tell me everything,” she demanded.

“How did you—”

“I know everything.”

“Then why do you need me to tell you?” I grumbled.

Fiona spotted a guard at the top of the stairs and asked where Random was; he directed us to the library.

The room was crowded; Random stood at the head of the long table, surrounded by advisors. Many of his siblings either sat at the table or milled about the room. There was a newcomer: a young man, face partially masked, sitting next to Llewella. Though I’d never conversed with him, he’d been an occasional presence at court, for official purposes and special events, and I recognized him as Llewella’s son, Ronin. When Flora saw me she motioned to the empty chair next to her. I suppressed a grimace and stood next to Gérard instead, who greeted me with a small smile and tugged on my hair.

The door opened and Julian strode in, armor covered in mud and grass, dragging a dazed Blaine with one hand, and hauling Shade by the scruff with the other.

“Found them,” he announced. “This one was trying to run off again,” he said, shoving Shade towards her mother. “Mine at least was lagging because it was his first Hellride.”

Blaine, incredibly, took it upon himself to present our new discoveries to the assembled group. The only disruption was an anxious fit of murmuring at the news that Deirdre and Brand had survived their fall (in a fashion), which Random silenced quickly. After this, more than one suspicious look was cast at a somber Naddia.

I interrupted Blaine before he could get to the more sensitive information about the Jewel. In bestowing the power of the Jewel on another, Random would only christen a rival for himself. I doubted he wanted this to be common knowledge among ours the most cutthroat of families.

“My King,” I said, “Deirdre confirmed that your highness and your brothers and sisters are beyond Brand’s psychic reach. It should be safe for you to resume using Trumps as normal.”

“Well…” said Random with a great sigh. “This is shit. All right—ah…” He passed a hand over his eyes, struggling to form a sentence. “Ha… Okay. Yes. Uh…no. Everybody get out. Seriously, everyone.” Random glanced up, saw no one had moved, and barked, “Fuck off!”

People jumped up and scurry for the exits. I waited until we were nearly alone and then went up and paused at the king’s shoulder.

“I apologize for withholding information, but I thought it best for your ears alone,” I said in a low voice. “Deirdre said that the Jewel of Judgment would be vital to the cause, but that one of the third generation must use it.”

Random sighed heavily. “Tell my valet to bring me whiskey.”

_Because the best tactical thinking comes from inebriation._

I bowed my head demurely. “Your Majesty.” Then I left him. On my way out the door, I saw a copy of Corwin’s _Chronicles of Amber_ , his account of the Patternfall War and the drawing of his own Pattern, set on a podium. I pocketed it.

The corridor was a bit crowded when I went out, as everyone was discussing the situation amongst themselves, but they were in the process of breaking off into pairs and little cabals and dispersing.

I gravitated towards Shade, Blaine, and Naddia out of habit. Flora appeared abruptly at my elbow, causing me to jump and swear, most unladylike.

“Hell! You harpy!”

Her plastered-on smile didn’t twitch. “Children! Darlings, this is your cousin Ronin!” She motioned to the towering form behind her. “He’s only just arrived from Rebma with his mother, our dear Llewella. Make him feel welcome!” She gently pushed Ronin into our group and flounced away.

The corridor emptied of the adults, leaving us alone together. Silence prevailed.

“Well, this has been sufficiently awkward.” Shade saluted us nonchalantly. “I’m out.” She turned and left, Naddia following her.

Blaine made some terse farewell and went off in another direction.

I went to my social place and smiled at Ronin. “I know you by sight, but I don’t believe we’ve met properly.” I extended my hand to him. “I’m Evelyn.”

He clasped it in greeting. “Ronin—well, you knew that. Aunt Flora’s daughter, right?”

“Through no fault of my own. This is your first extended stay in Amber, yes? Let me show you around.”

“All right.”

“Well, you’ve seen the library,” I said, waving dismissively at the door behind me. I gestured to the great arching one behind him. “The gardens, then.” We went outside and I played the tour guide. I showed him Benedict’s famous Zen garden and Flora’s stately tea garden, and even Julian’s decorative rock garden. I gave him the art history lecture on all the marble statues and fountains, and pointed out the exotic menagerie of birds, hedgehogs, martens, and the occasional fox that could be spotted about the grounds. It was nice to fall back into an old role for a little while; my world had been turned upside down more than a few times in the last five months, like an overused hourglass.

Admittedly, Ronin was not quite like my usual tourists. His tall stature and defined musculature was standard enough. He did have green hair, which was not entirely uncommon, Rebma being so close, but still marked him as a non-native. He wore a mask, which was definitely a quirk; it covered his nose and below and tied around the back of his head. He himself was rather taciturn and didn’t speak much, though he did tell me that he hadn’t experienced the psychic wroth of Brand.

“I’m sure I’ve seen you on feast days,” I prompted, trying to start a conversation.

“Yes, and I’ve seen you.”

“You haven’t been up since…Eric’s last Ascension Day?”

“That’s right.”

“Don’t care for it much?”

“I don’t like the stuffiness of court. Too much scheming and superiority. I need air.”

“Or rather water.”

He chuckled. “Yes, water.”

A gong sounded from somewhere in the castle, rumbling across the grounds; dinner would be served soon. “Well, this was lovely. Shall we go and dress for dinner?”

He walked with me back to the castle and then we went our separate ways. Our rooms were in the same wing, so I wasn’t sure where he was wandering off to.

In my room, I washed my face and my hair, relishing the availability of my preferred product. Calverton had not been savage, but it lacked some of the finer things. I changed into a powder-blue dress and paired it with silver heels. I felt like it was missing something, though; I needed to project my old self again, I’d been cracking under the pressure lately. I unlocked the trunk at the foot of my bed and carefully picked through it. I liked to keep it tidy, with the smaller items in boxes so they could be stacked neatly. There were bundles of letters and some trinkets from admirers—pressed flowers and hair ribbons and the like. In a little jewelry box I found what I was looking for: a single freshwater pearl on a silver chain and a matching hair comb. Gifts from Merlin on my last birthday in Amber. A momento of simpler times. I added these finishing touches, then put the box back in the trunk and fastened the lock.

Because of my indulgence in vanity, I was a little late for cocktails, but I needed something if I was going to get through dinner with my relatives, so I ordered a glass of scotch and finished it off pretty quick.

They seated me next to Flora, and within ten minutes I had completely lost the will to live.

“All I’m saying, dear, is that you could do a little more with _this_ ,” she said, motioning to my bust.

“Mother.”

“Why do you insist on wearing boat neck dresses? Really.”

“Do you not see what I'm wearing this very moment?”

“Well, admit it’s not the norm.” Flora took a bite of her steak, and there was a blessed ten-second silence. “You need a young man, Evelyn.”

“I’m having plenty of sex, don’t worry.” Julian, sitting across from me, coughed amid a sip of wine and cleared his throat, taken aback by the consequences of eavesdropping. (It was a lie though, most unfortunately.)

“Charming. What I mean is I’d like to see you settled.”

“What am I, the final frontier?”

Flora rolled her eyes and changed the subject back to my appearance—this time my shoes, which she thought out of style. I sipped my wine and thought that perhaps Brand had a point about existence being a bad idea.

Thinking of Brand, I looked down the table at Naddia. She was placed next to Caine, whom I understood to be a sort of foster father to her, probably in recompense for killing her biological one. He seemed to be the only one who would speak to or even acknowledge her.

“What about one of the young royals from Kashfa?”

“I don’t concern myself with endangered species.”

Finally, the main course ended and dessert was brought out. I excused myself from the table.

“Skipping the pudding?” Flora asked.

“I am, as you say, ‘unsettled,’” I said, “so I must watch my figure. More for you, though, hm?” Flora glared and let her fork drop.

I meandered through the halls, reveling in the quiet. I didn’t want to go back to my rooms and stare at the walls just yet, so I wandered about a while.

At some point I realized that I was headed towards the infirmary. I poked my head in and found it dark, deserted, and silent. The beds were empty except for two down at the end. I tiptoed down the ward, wary. I’d always hated the infirmary, it made me feel…infirm.

The others had worked up the gumption to move Garth in here at some point since the Pattern incident. Martin looked like a doll next to him, groomed and laid out neatly on crisp white sheets. I pulled a chair up and sat next to him.

“Hello, Martin… I honestly don’t know if you can hear me. It must be maddeningly lonely if you can’t… I wish we’d been able to talk a bit before you went under. I’ve missed you incredibly.” I talked to him for a long time, telling him about my time in Calverton, and even my time on that Shadow Earth. I shared funny stories of jobs gone wrong and mishaps in the bedroom. It was strange not to hear him laugh. Eerie.

Eventually I exhausted my own anecdotes, so I took the _Chronicles_ out, which I’d been carrying about in my pocket. I flipped through to a promising passage and began reading aloud. A nurse came through once to check on them, but didn’t say anything about needing to lock up the ward, so I stayed until late in the night before deciding to call it.

“I’ll take my leave of you, then. I’ll come back tomorrow.” I leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Good night, Martin.”


	9. Blackbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Evelyn makes a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mo_DMGc2v5o

 

My mother was dead.

It was strange—so often I’d wished to be rid of her, and now that I was, I wasn’t sure how to feel. It may have been that I’d seen so blessedly little of her the last few years, or it may have been the all-out mêlée in the throne room.

Random lay sprawled before the throne; the pool of blood around him was still growing, so he wasn’t quite dead yet. The same could not be said for any of his siblings, who were strewn about the hall.

Brand, very much alive, stood over the body of the king, observing the chaos and smiling, safely encircled by a retinue of soldiers—guards, actually. Guards in palace livery.

Men of the same uniform were perpetrating the carnage amidst which I stood, and it was ongoing—for a split second, I was aware of being wedged between Ronin and Blaine, and felt another’s shoulder nudge my back, then the surviving guards scattered about encircled and rushed us and the group burst like a bubble. I suddenly realized I was armed, with a longsword and a dirk that I hadn’t laid eyes on since the Siege of Amber.

One man came at me with a halberd while two more with longswords and shields hung back. He lunged and something just switched on somewhere in the cavern of my skull. I bobbed down and knocked his weapon skyward with my own as I came up. Before he could regain control of the thing, I had slipped too close for his comfort and drove my dirk up under his ribs and into a lung. He coughed once, spraying blood all over me, and then dropped.

I turned to see a sword coming at me and parried it, then sliced. Scored a hit, but it was only a minor wound. The second swordsman attacked and nearly took me down.

“And they said you were so good!” he sneered. I set the dirk in his left thigh to give me a little breathing room and turned back to the first sword.

“What the hell was _that_?!” I heard Shade raging and glanced over my shoulder at her to see her run through. “Oh fuck me.” And she crumpled.

There was no time to respond, as I still had two soldiers to deal with. While the one fought to free my dagger from his flesh, I took on the other. He sliced at my midsection and I only just managed to dodge. Lucky to be short, I ducked under his blade and delivered a decent left hook to his blockish jaw.

“Damn it!” I shook my hand violently, which seemed to radiate with pain. I could practically hear Eric shouting at me ‘ _Never with a closed fist, Evelyn!_ ’ I never was good at fisticuffs.

“Chipped a nail, my lady?”

I put a foot behind his ankle and pulled his leg out from under him. Caught by surprise, he fell and his sword clattered away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the other man pull the dirk from his leg. I opened the stomach of the one on the floor and turned as my dirk came flying through the air at me. I knocked it aside with my larger blade and lunged.

We locked blades and for a moment it was all I could do to keep from being pushed to the ground like a skinny dog.

“You’re better than they said,” my opponent informed me. “But such a little thing—you look more like Eric’s parakeet than his protégée.”

I dropped back, letting his sword clash down against the marble floor. I feinted towards his dominant hand and fooled him, creating an opening for me to get in on his left side and severed his Achilles tendon. He dropped to his knees, gasping for air. I took his head.

I woke as though emerging from water on the brink of drowning. There was someone crying—no, screaming—and it wasn’t until I stopped that I realized it was me. Beyond the wall behind me, yelling continued, accompanied by furniture crashing and knick knacks breaking. I didn’t know why Shade was throwing a tantrum, and I couldn’t toss together enough of a coherent thought to properly wonder.

I braced my elbows on my knees and held my pounding head in my hands.

“It wasn’t real,” I reminded myself. I couldn’t tell if I was covered in my own sweat or that man’s blood. “We’re not at war, we’re not at war.” I feared entirely for my life and my mind and—for if we lost the valley Eric may not be able to protect me, and I knew what happened in conquered cities and Florimel was the very soul of a quisling—

“It’s wasn’t real!” I grabbed the nearest item—a silver candelabra wrought as vines of ivy on my bedside table—and flung it across the room. It hit the wall with a clang and broken tapers rolled across the floor.

I pulled the blankets off and got out of bed. I went to the washstand and poured some cool water into the basin to splash on my face.

 _The war is over, the city is safe, Eric is dead._ Drying my face with a towel, I took a shawl from the back of a chair and went into my parlor.

Opening the doors onto the balcony let in a surge of cool air, which I sorely needed. My rooms felt stifling.

The sky was still dark and star-spangled. There was only the slightest hint of the coming dawn tickling the horizon, so it was still a few hours off.

_The war is over, the city is safe, Eric is dead. It was just a dream._

A terrible dream, brought on by being in this hellish castle, seeing livery again, walking down corridors bedecked with portraits and tapestries depicting the scene of Eric’s death. That skirmish in Undershadow. Discovery of Brand’s continuing treachery. It was only natural I should experience some sort of shellshock.

“Natural. Completely normal.” I went back into the parlor and took a decanter and a tumbler from the cabinet. “Just have to get through the night.” If I could get through the night, I could face the morning. I wasn’t sure how far that philosophy would get me, but when it ran out I’d still have the scotch.

* * *

A maid came to wake me after dawn and found me awake already, sitting on the couch in the parlor with the doors still wide open. She fussed about for a bit lighting a fire in the hearth. I didn’t explain to her why I’d needed the cold air, why I couldn’t let myself sleep. I told her to have a breakfast tray sent to my room, because I wouldn’t be going down to eat with the others. I wasn’t yet composed enough to face them.

I didn’t have much stomach for it, but I tried to eat, and I did feel better afterwards. More like a person and less like a corpse.

When I was finished, I went and laid out some clothes for the day. Breeches and boots with a close-fitting blouse and a walking coat. Not my usual style, but I wasn’t planning on a usual day.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

The maid was back. Or maybe it was a different one—it was a maid. “M’lady, the king requests your presence in the library.”

“Thank you. I’ll be right down.” She left and I dressed. I wanted to get the family meeting over with, so I took a ribbon from my dresser and plaited my hair loosely on the way down.

Random was not alone in the library; my cousins, aunts, and uncles were assembled informally, browsing the stacks or conversing quietly in pairs and trios by the display cases.

The king looked up when I entered and studied me for a moment, then cleared his throat and called my peers and me before him.

“I trust entirely that I don’t have to reiterate how important it is that you all remain _here in Amber_ until this threat has been neutralized.” I felt like he was speaking directly to me; perhaps he was suspicious of my outdoorsy attire. “It is vital not only to your safety, but to the security of the city, the family, and our way of life itself. Understood?” My cousins murmured affirmatives seeming like shamed puppies. Random gave me a sharp look. “Understood, Evelyn?”

Taken aback at being singled out like this, I stammered, “Uh—yes, of course.” I felt a blush burning my neck.

“Good. Have any of you come under any sort of threat since you disappeared at the Pattern?—other than the mutual dream you all experienced last night. None of this business with the Trumps?”

Ronin raised a hand hesitantly. “I’m not sure what you mean about the Trumps…?”

“We—ah,” I shook my head to jostle myself after the suggestion of the mutual dream, “we experienced the sensation of a Trump contact, but there was only a void at the other side. Answering it would trap you in a foggy…nothingness.”

The door opened and Fiona came in. “I’m sorry I’m late, what have I missed?”

Random made a gesture to signal that he yielded the floor to us. Blaine looked at Shade expectantly. She glared at him, then spoke, quickly and tensely; “We all had the same dream last night and it was Brand, in the throne room, the king dead, everyone dead, the palace guards attacking us, and I fucking _died_.” She pointed to Ronin, snapped “It was your fault,” then folded her arms and shook her head, scowling. “It was so fucked up.”

Naddia chimed in timidly. “There was something else, too… My—the, uh, the way Brand looked, he was…blurry. Like the men we fought in Undershadow.”

Fiona listened to all this with an expression of academic frustration. “Well. That’s—disturbing, yes.” She nodded, thinking, then after a moment she spoke again. “I will find a way to prevent such visions in the future. I’ll have it ready for tonight, after dinner.” Random thanked her.

“All right, you’re dismissed. Don’t wander far, though.” The king turned to a table, over which his advisors were discussing maps and documents.

I left without further ado. I went to the armory, and asked the attendant there to show me where my weapons were stored. He led me to a cupboard behind a row of pikes and gave me the key to it. Inside I found my longsword, my bow, my collection of smaller blades and other accoutrement of violence. I took my archery gear, then closed and locked the small closet. Near the door there were quivers full of dummy arrows, and I exchanged the key for two of these.

Down past the gardens, in the grove practically growing wild within the castle walls, there was a clearing with a shooting range that I knew of that was largely disused.

It had been far too long since I’d last practiced, and I was extremely rusty. I’d always had a talent for weaponry, and the bow was no exception, but skill comes from working at ability like sculpting clay. And I liked the idea of having some distance between my attacker and myself, so I kept at it, though I couldn’t figure what I was doing wrong.

At the sound of a twig snapping, I spun without thinking and loosed an arrow.

“Seven hells!” The man dropped his own quiver and bow and fell, clutching his left shoulder. “You madwoman!”

“I’m sorry!” I dropped my bow in the grass and ran to him. With my luck, this was another mysterious cousin suddenly arrived from some distant Shadow I’d never heard of, and I doubted the king would appreciate my killing him. “Don’t move!”

“Ah!” He clenched his teeth. “Nice shot, though.”

“Did it hit the bone?”

“No—holy—didn’t hit the bone, just muscle—damn!”

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it. It’s barely in there, my god, you’re fine.” I set one hand on his collarbone to hold him down and carefully gripped the shaft of the arrow with the other, then removed it in one swift pull. He cursed to himself. I took a handkerchief from my pocket and pressed it to the wound, applying pressure. Such basic battlefield physicking had become familiar to me over the course of my somewhat militaristic upbringing. “Good thing it was a pile head and not a broad or we would have had an actual problem. Does it hurt?”

He laughed, but the action pained him and he groaned. “No, not at all. What arrow?” He held a hand above his face to shield his eyes from the sun and he looked suddenly shocked. “My lady!”

“What—? Oh.”

In the tumult, I’d failed to realize that this was the ranger, the one I’d recognized at Ewan’s camp. Before that, I’d only ever clapped eyes on him once in my life. I usually make a point of avoiding past conquests once I’m done with them; this was certainly a freak occurrence.

“I’m sorry I startled you, my lady!”

“Are you mad? _I’m_ sorry! What’s your name, ranger?”

“Reed Cavan, my lady.”

“Well, Mr. Cavan,” I lifted the handkerchief to check his wound; the bleeding had slowed considerably, which was a good sign, “you just might live. Damn it. I don’t have anything better, though, and this’ll get you back to the castle, at least.”

“No, it’s—it’s good, it, uh, matches my eyes, doesn’t it?” It didn’t really, but I appreciated his good humor. “I wasn’t aware anyone else used this range anymore, with the garrison’s just up on the lawn.”

“That’s why I’m using it.”

He made the effort of sitting up, which seemed to make him more comfortable. “Shy, are we? You hit the bull’s-eye five times.”

“Out of nearly twenty shots." 

“I count...twelve.”

“I lost a few arrows in the trees down that way.” I got up and retrieved my bow and two quivers, one of which was empty. “I’m woefully out of practice.”

“Wait—” Reed clambered to his feet and came over. “Show me.”

“You’re hurt.”

“So shoot the target this time.” He didn’t seem about to budge, and I wanted to get him to the infirmary to wash and properly dress his wound as soon as possible, so I humored him.

“Your stance is off.” I threw an annoyed glance over my shoulder. “Only just. Here.” He nudged my foot with his and stood at my back and poked my shoulder. “Over. Over. There. All right, lift. Too low.” He lowered himself to my eye level, set a hand under my wrist and gently pushed it up a quarter of an inch. “There. Good grip. Aim. Good. Now your strength should not come from your arms, but rather your back, from here—” He firmly set his hand on my back as if I didn’t understand which part of the body it was and then remembered himself and jumped back. “Ah! Forgive me! I—I work with rangers, my lady, I didn’t think.”

I let the arrow fly; it hit within the center circle, a far cry better than my average shot that morning, but still not quite my best. I turned to him. “They’re lucky to have you. You’re an instructor, aren’t you? That’s why you were called back from the forest?”

“It is, my lady.” He reached for my bow. “May I?” I handed it over. “It’s lovely. I’m used to working with longbows, they’re easier to aim. Recurves can be finicky but their whips have quite a lash if you know how. Shooting a recurve for the first time in—how long?”

In Amber, just over a year had passed, but in the Shadow I’d run off to it was about two and a half years. Then there was Calverton, where I’d been for nigh on six months, and then all roads lead to Amber, with the better part of a week.

I smiled and shook my head as if the math was too much for me. “Too long.”

“A recurve does you no favors—are you sure don’t want to start with a longbow? It shoots straighter, it’s better for learning—or refreshing, forgive me.”

“I’m thoroughly sick of forgiving you, Mr. Cavan.”

Reed laughed. “Then I must take my leave of you.”

“I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

“No need, no need; I’ll go to the barracks, we’ve our own physician who’ll patch me up.  Not sure how I'll explain it, but it's minor.” He handed my bow back to me then took my free hand and bowed over it. “My lady.” He went to his own discarded gear and gathered it up, favoring his wounded shoulder.

“Mr. Cavan?”

“You can call me Reed if it please you.”

“Reed, then. I’ll be back here again tomorrow, and if you’d like to join me you may, but please don’t sneak up on me again. Will you come?”

He smiled. “With bells on—you’ll hear me a mile off.”


	10. Close Your Eyes Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDMmj5WgB8c

Fiona placed a protective spell on each of our rooms that night, to keep psychic infiltration at bay. I’d been hoping she’d produce some sort of tonic or pill to ward off dreams altogether, but this seemed to suit her better, as it only required one performance.

I didn’t sleep well; I was scared to. I woke sometime in the wee hour of pre-dawn, sweaty and panicky, but with no recollection of the dream that had woken me.

Hoping to avoid as much interaction as possible with my family, I decided to get up and out early again. I dressed in the same manner as the day before and left a note on my informing whoever came to wake me for breakfast in a few hours that I’d gone out.

I found Reed in the armory, polishing boots.

“Oh. Good morning, my lady,” Reed said. “And here I’d thought I’d beat you down to the range.”

“Never underestimate my enthusiasm.” I retrieved my bow and took a few quivers of arrows. “Are you ready to go down?”

He set the shoe brush down on the bench next to him and picked up a cloth to wipe the excess polish away. “I’ll put these back in the barracks and be right with you.”

I waited for him in the corridor as he slipped in and out of the barracks, where most of the men he served with were still sleeping, and then we left.

“How is your shoulder?” I asked as we walked.

“Healing nicely. I won’t be able to shoot, but I can still help you.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“I live to serve.”

“So why are you up so early?”

“Why are you?”

“I asked first.”

His smile faded a bit, then became fixed and plastic. “It’s going to rain today.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“My, ah…my knee. It gets a bit sore when it’s going to rain. Old injury.”

The subject clearly made him uncomfortable, so I didn’t press him. Reed held back the prickly tendril of a multiflora rose so I could pass by it unhindered.

“What time will the rain start?”

He laughed. “Well I don’t know _that_.”

“Will it last all day? Into the night?”

“I only know it _will_ rain.”

“Could you arrange some snow? I like snow.” The trees stopped abruptly, giving way to the grassy, open area of the secluded shooting range. We set our quivers down and he waited while I pulled on my gloves and my arm- and chest-guards and strung my bow.

It felt more difficult than usual to bend the bow and catch the loop of the string; two horrible nights of sleep in a row was catching up to me. I tried firing an arrow, and though my form wasn’t all that great, the wind was with me and the arrow, though not my aim, was true.

Reed wasn’t fooled by my luck, though. “Are you feeling well?”

“I’m fine. Just a bit tired.” I squared up again and shot; only slightly better. Archery is such a hard-won skill.

Reed shrugged off his jacket and laid it on the ground. “Sit.” He took a small cloth-wrapped bundle from his pocket and dropped down next to me. It turned out to be bread, of which he offered me half, saying, “You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

Now that he mentioned it, I realized I hadn’t. “How could you tell?”

“Your arm was shaking a bit.”

I nibbled at the bread and we were quiet for a while. The sun was up and birds were causing a minor cacophony in the wooded area.

“Is it Patternfall?” he asked.

Taken by surprise, I coughed on the bread. “Excuse me?”

“I was there, too. That’s what happened to my leg.” He rubbed his knee as though thinking of the incident physically hurt. “I saw you. You fought well.”

I wished people would stop complimenting me on a battle which, as far as I’m concerned, I lost. “Not well enough.”

We sat and listened to the birds awhile. A marten crept through the grass, stalking a mouse.

“I was in charge of a team of archers,” he said after a moment, staring off past the targets. “We were up on a ridge, providing cover for the cavalry, and then the wyverns just—appeared. Our arrows weren’t strong enough to bring them down, so then they were on us, and it was just… We took out some of the riders, but the beasts were in a frenzy, and we just weren’t prepared. Out of twenty-six, there are four of us left today. I nearly lost this leg.” He patted the limb. “I wake up sometimes thinking I did.” Reed shook himself and looked at me. “Forgive me, my lady. I haven’t thought on this in some time, but then I saw you and…it all came back.”

“I would have you call me Evelyn,” I told him. “‘My lady’ is getting tiresome and stilted.”

He smiled and turned his face to the sun peeking over the trees. “As you wish.”

“I’m truly sorry for any distress I’ve caused you.”

“Don’t think on it. It was just a surprise to see you, after so long. Some said you were dead.” He looked at me and shrugged. “You haven’t been seen since the siege.”

“I couldn’t stay here. And I didn’t want to come back.” I flopped down in the grass, all grace. “I was getting by. Now that I’m back here, I feel as though I’m losing my mind.”

Reed laid down next to me and we watched clouds meander across the sky. “You had to know you could only run from it for so long. But until you turn and fight, it’ll have you on the ropes.”

“I don’t think I have any fight left in me.”

“I won’t believe that for a moment.”

“If I do, I don’t remember how.”

“Well,” said Reed, sitting up, “that’s why you asked me here, isn’t it?” He got to his feet and offered me a hand.

I let him haul me up. He handed me an arrow and pointed me towards the target, fussing over my stance and my aim and we didn’t speak of unpleasant things until the clouds had darkened and thickened and we decided to retire to the castle before we were driven there.

“I can’t talk about—about Patternfall,” I said, unprompted. “I have no one. Eric is dead, Merlin is gone, Martin is down. Who am I to trust—Random, who hated Eric? Julian, who hates all? My mother?”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone to confide in.”

* * *

We fell into an easy routine; in the early morning, we’d meet in the armory and head down to the practice field, where I was improving by leaps and bounds. My hands finally seemed to remember their old skill with a bow. Before noon, he’d leave me to attend to his official duties, but I’d taken to following him and engaging in whatever activity was set to the men that day. It felt good to be training again, to feel a sense of camaraderie, to tease over a misstep or gloat over a score. It reminded me of a time when I was more naïve and sparring was a game. Simply put, it was fun.

Once during this time, the men had a special training session in Arden. It cut into my private archery lesson, but I went along rather than stay at the castle by myself. Riding was another lost hobby, although not one I’d so sorely missed as weaponry or social warfare. Another time it was Reed’s day off, along with a handful of his men’s, and we spent the day down in the city. The others went straight to a part of town renowned for its sinfulness, except for one who went to visit his father, and Reed and I took a nice stroll through the market.

“Those are nearly identical,” Reed informed me, gesturing at the two scarves I’d been scrutinizing for at least five minutes.

“I know, that makes it all the more difficult.”

“Do you honestly need a scarf? You must have a hundred.”

“That’s the nice thing about having money.” I gave up trying to choose and bought them both. “Here, this one’s not got embroidery on it, take it as a token,” I teased, tossing it at him.

“Oh, with honor.” He folded it and put it in the hidden breast pocket of his coat. “You seem quite feisty today; you’re sleeping better, I take it?”

“I am—very much so. And I have you to thank.”

“Trust me, you’re doing it yourself. I am merely a worry doll.” We paused at a vendor to look at some knives. “This would be fetching with that scarf.”

Reed was a veritable godsend in this friendless place; I’d confided in him the darkness in me the way one must finally show a surgeon an infected wound. Both are embarrassing and cause more pain than initially felt, but result in a cleansing and healing sensation. I was by no means cured—we’d only just began this treatment, and I doubted that I would ever be rid of the thing entirely; I still had what I might call gangrene of the soul, but I had hope of saving the limb.

“Did you stay with the king, to the end?” Reed asked. We’d moved on to a jewelry vendor and he was trying to find a suitable gift for his sister.

“You could give me some warning, you know, before asking these things.”

“Did you?”

I had a feeling he knew the answer; he’d said already that he’d seen me in the field that day. I told him anyway. “Yes, I did. I would never have left him. I would have traded places with him if I could. I still would.” My shame for my part in Eric’s death was a brand on my heart.

“You didn’t kill him, you know.”

“If he hadn’t been looking after me he would not have fallen. All the forces of hell could have descended on us and he would have stood. I could not hold my own in practice as I could in theory, and because of that, the king is dead.”

A passerby stopped, shocked, and grabbed my arm. “The king is dead?”

“No.”

“Oh, blessings. That’s all we need now, eh?” The old woman turned away from me and declared “Long live the king!” with as much projection as she could muster, and the call was taken up momentarily.

I looked at Reed, annoyed, and lowered my voice. “Random’s Amber is one I want no part of. It galls me to see the crown on his head, the Jewel round his neck.”

“Because to you the once and future king was Eric. It was always Eric, wasn’t it?” He held up two bracelets to compare. “Which do you like?”

* * *

 

As had become my custom, I excused myself from the pudding course and left the dining hall for the infirmary. I’d been reading to Martin each night, Corwin’s account of the war—a biased telling if ever there was—partially to simply feel I was doing some good by him, but also to pad my own knowledge of the situation.

_Minutes, days, years…I do not know how long this went on. It felt like forever, as if I had been engaged in this single act for all of eternity…_

_Then I moved, and how long that took I do not know. But I completed the step and began another. Then another…_

“Merlin said you liked this part.”

_The universe seemed to reel about me. I was through._

_The pressure was gone, the blackness was gone…_

“He likes his ellipses, doesn’t he?”

_For an instant, I stood at the center of my Pattern. Without even regarding it, I fell—_

Martin suddenly coughed and sprung up into a sitting position, looking bewildered. “Evelyn? What happened?”

I didn’t know whether to kiss him or crack him over the head with a bedpan.

“Evelyn?”

I grabbed his arm and dragged him from the bed and towards the door.

“Whoa, whoa—Ev, let me get dressed!” His legs were tangled up in the blanket and he struggled to work out the use of his slightly atrophied limbs. “Evelyn! Woman, I am _unclothed_.”

I grabbed a white sheet from a stack clean linens at the nurse station by the door and tossed it at him. He pulled it around himself haphazardly as I pushed and harassed him down the corridor.

“What’s wrong with you?!”

“Oh, if only I knew! Move!”

“Evelyn—ow! Hang on, this is slipping—”

I shoved the door to the dining room open and pulled him in to stand with me before the shocked family. Some jumped to their feet, like Random and Caine, and some simply sat, stunned.

Martin adjusted the sheet, clearing his throat.

Random came around the table and crossed the room quickly. He embraced Martin tightly, and said something quiet that I didn’t quite catch. I had not thought Random cared so much for his son, whom he’d abandoned more than once and for whom he’d displayed no distress the past few days.

Fiona appeared at Random’s side. “I have to examine him immediately.”

“You’ll wait,” he ordered. “He’ll have something to eat first.”

Random pushed him into the seat next to his own and practically force fed him.

Fiona stood off to the side, behind Martin, watching him intently. He seemed in perfect health and of sound mind, though. As he ate, he recounted his experience.

“I was in a murky place—cloudy, dim. There was this bizarre, purple…lightning, it looked like. Moving was difficult, as though I was underwater or something, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.” He paused to take a drink.

“How did you escape?” asked Random.

“I’m not really sure… There was some sort of—presence, like a ghost made of fog. It grabbed hold of me and then was this wrestling in my mind. I felt like I was losing consciousness, finally passing out after lacking air so long. I struggled and fought to stay awake and tried to get away, and then there was another ghost, enormous, who pulled me away and tackled the first. Then a sort of…medium-sized one? appeared and it—it was like it was trying to do CPR or something. I could breathe again. And then suddenly I was with Evelyn.”

Random glanced at me, then turned his attention back to Martin. “What did that feel like?”

I drew back and stood next to Fiona. “Is it him?” I felt like my heart was being kneaded; Martin was one of three people in Amber that I truly loved (one of which was dead and another truant) and if Brand had taken his body I was sure that he was lost to me forever.

“I can’t tell. He seems to be himself, doesn’t he? You would know better than I.”

Martin cracked some joke at his own expense and eased some of the tension in the room with laughter. Same cocky smile, same relaxed posture, even the same hand gestures as he spoke…

“Yes, he does seem himself.”

“But we can’t underestimate the enemy. I need to take him to my lab.”

Martin said something that made everyone chuckle to themselves, but Random’s eyes went soft and he grasped his son’s shoulder affectionately.

“What can I do?” I asked.

“Just watch him.” Fiona caught Random’s attention and motioned to the door. He nodded and dismissed the table. He took Martin’s arm to help him to his feet. The two of them followed Fiona to her lab, and Blaine, Flora, and I went with them.

It was an uneventful but anxious affair; Fiona’s inspection of Martin’s physical and psychic health took close on two hours. The rest of us stood out of the way, waiting for the prognosis.

Flora fussed with my hair as she prattled on at me about my absence from the court, my new wardrobe choices, my lack of a beau.

I pushed her hand away from my hair; I was trying to watch Martin for any deviation of character, any sign of change.

“If I needed advice on men, I wouldn’t come to you,” I informed her.

“Well people are wondering if you’re even interested in men.”

“Sure they are. Rest assured, _Mother_ , I’m interested in men—at least half the time.”

“What _have_ you done to your hands?” She seized the offending appendages and scrutinized. A few of my nails were broken and my knuckles were scraped and bruised. “I wish you wouldn’t hang about with those Rangers, they’re too rough.”

“I like ’em rough.”

“Don’t be so crude.” She dropped my hands and turned away, her best prude face on. “You’re Eric’s creature entirely. I claim no responsibility for you.”

“I truly appreciate that.”

Fiona, having completed the physical inspection and collected whatever samples she could make use of, left Martin and came over to speak to us.

“He’s definitely Martin. His aura, his psyche, everything indicates that he’s quite in control of himself. There is a lingering trace of Brand’s attack, but it doesn’t seem to be any sort of means of remote control. Just residual energy from being there so long.”

Random relaxed visibly. “Thank you.”

“We can’t leave him alone, though,” I said. “I mean, he needs to be observed, doesn’t he? We can’t know what sort of long-term effect this experience will have on him. He may slip under again.”

“He’s fine,” said Martin pointedly.

“Are you volunteering?” Flora asked me pointedly.

“I’ll look after him,” said Random, a bit sharply. “He’s my son. He’s in my care and mine alone.”

“He’s a grown man,” Martin reminded us, but no one was listening.

I was taken aback by his tone; he almost sounded suspicious of me. Did he think I had something to do with Martin’s condition, because I was the sole witness to his resurrection? That could be problematic.

Random then made an abrupt exit, taking Martin with him. Flora started talking at me, and rather than be drawn into another battle of quips, I brushed her off and left.

I wandered awhile, unsure of where I was going. My head was spinning with the events of the night—and it wasn’t even that late. Had nothing changed, I would still be reading to Martin by this time.

I found myself in the quarter of the castle that housed the militaristic inhabitants. I ended up at the door to the armory. I poked my head in and found what I had come to find.

“That was easy,” I said.

Reed turned and smiled when he saw me. “Looking for me?”

“Obviously.”

He’d been organizing a cabinet full of cleaning materials when I’d come in; he set the last jar of polish on a shelf and closed the door. “You look awful.”

“Thanks. I need some air—walk with me?”

After a turn or two about the gardens, and after exhausting the subject of and speculations on Martin’s return, we had to return to the armory so Reed could lock up before retiring for the night.

“I’m afraid I’ve kept you up late,” I said as we stood in front of the door and he dug in his pocket for the keys.

“I don’t mind losing sleep with you, dear lady.” Reed sighed and set his forehead against the door. “Please forgive me. I didn’t mean—well, I didn’t mean that. No, wait—”

I set a hand on his arm. “Reed, you’re going to pull a muscle” This was not the first time one of us had inadvertently referenced our first meeting.

“I’m terrified of offending you,” he said, looking at me.

“I wish you wouldn’t be. You’re fine, really.” He didn’t seem convinced. “We _are_ going to have to discuss it sometime.”

“Discuss it?”

“Well, it was the night we met, and it’s having some impact on our friendship, and it’ll have to be discussed at some point.” It wasn’t as nearly awkward for me as it seemed to be for him. Perhaps he hadn’t had as many one-night stands as I had. “The thing about that night—”

I heard footsteps behind me, and a soft-spoken voice inquire “Lady Evelyn?” I turned and the servant stepped closer. “The king requires the family’s presence in the infirmary.”

My blood went cold. “Martin?”

“No, my lady.”

“Oh, thank goodness. I’m on my way, thank you.” I turned back to Reed. “Never a dull moment, hm? I’ll take my leave, then.”

“Would you ride with me tomorrow in Arden? I’ve a leisure day.” I told him that I would, of course, and turned to leave. I was nearly at the turning when he asked, “And what _about_ the night we met?”

I looked back at him before going round the corner. “It was a lovely night.”

* * *

As it turned out, Blaine had found Garth dead in the infirmary; we stood around him as though gathered for a shocked, anxious vigil.

“How…how did this happen?” asked Naddia.

“Brand attempted to take charge of his faculties,” Fiona explained. “I found the same traces of energy about him as I found about Martin; Garth’s mind was not as guarded than Martin’s.”

“Cynicism saved me,” Martin muttered, moderately impressed.

“—and easier to overpower, but Garth chose to self-destruct his nervous system rather than allow Brand the use of it. Once his brain shut down, it was, of course, only seconds until his heart stopped, and—well, there you have it.”

Gérard was apart from the assembly, facing a window. As Random extolled Garth’s sacrifice and courage, I stepped away from my other relatives and joined him there.

In my family, displays of affection are either easy and often or calculated and opportune. There are only a handful of recorded instances of a genuine show of care for a relation not considered “close” emotionally or socially. But Gérard is a kind soul, with only the good of the realm at heart, and it was nothing to reach out and offer condolences.

“I am so sorry for your loss, Uncle.”

“Thank you.”

“He was a good man.”

Gérard spared a glance at me from the high perch of his shoulders. He put an arm around my shoulders and hugged me to his side. “Thank you, Evelyn. He was a fine boy. One of my best. I don’t know how I’ll face his mother.” He sighed. “You’re a good girl, Evelyn. If you could give me a moment, though, I think I’d like to be alone awhile.”

Martin was waiting for me at the outskirt of the group. I pulled him away into the corridor to talk.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into the dining room naked,” I said. “It was a shock, you have to understand.”

“Oh I do, I do. I still don’t really get what’s going on, myself, so were I in your shoes, I’d have dragged you out naked too. Just not to the dining room.” His delivery was off; he was too exhausted to do his usual comedy. He rubbed his face and dragged a hand through his hair as he put an arm around me and pulled me close. “I feel as though I’m sleepwalking. It seemed like years passed in that awful place…was I really only gone a week?”

“Just inside it, actually. But I know what you mean—I was there, too, but only for a few minutes in real time. It felt like longer.”

Martin made some sound of disgust. “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. You’re all right now, though?”

“Oh, yes, perfectly fine. The vertigo fades rather quickly.”

“Thank fuck.” Martin sighed, sounding fatigued, and pressed a kiss to my hair. After a moment, he asked, “Is Brand really alive?”

I took a deep breath and pulled away from him; in all the excitement of today, I’d actually gone a few hours without thinking on it. “Yes, he is.” He wanted a credible source before he’d believe it, so I told him that I, along with Naddia, Shade, and Blaine, had relayed the information from Deirdre—which was another hard pill to swallow for him, understandably. He didn’t doubt me, though, and listened quietly and attentively as I explained to him the breadth of what we knew so far.

“Seven hells…” he mumbled, rubbing at his face again, a sure sign he was as tired as he sounded. “And where’s Merlin in all this?”

“He’s gone somewhere, with Corwin and Dara. They’re off in Shadow, no one knows where.”

Martin snorted derisively. “The best place for him to be, obviously. Speaking of Corwin, you dropped this earlier.” He handed me a book—Corwin’s account.

I took it, and it fell open in my hands to the bookmark. It suddenly occurred to me that _I_ might know where they’d gone.

“Hey,” Random suddenly appeared at my side; the lamenting group was dissipating; “you and me, son, we’re going to the library.”

“The library?” Martin’s unspoken complaint ‘Can’t I go to bed?’ was loud and clear to me.

Random smiled. “How long’s it been since we played together? I had the drums set up and it’s all waiting for us there.”

As worn-out and mentally drained as he was, Martin couldn’t turn down a chance to spend time with his father; it just wasn’t in him. They went off together, and I went to my rooms.

With the door shut and locked, and I in my nightclothes, I sat in my study and read through the pages of Corwin’s _Chronicles_ again and again.

_“…It is beyond this valley, certainly, is it not?”_

_“Yes. there is a tunnel.”_

_…struck off to my left._

_…great wasteland which commenced somewhere below…another range of mountains._

_…I had screwed my staff into the ground and left it to stand near the Pattern’s beginning._

I knew where to go.


	11. St. Peter's Cathedral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a funeral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r73MxE3d6wQ

I forced myself to sleep to a decent hour—which is to say, I didn’t let myself get out of bed before dawn. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do or when, but whatever it was, I needed to be well-rested for it.

Reed and I met in the stables; he had packed a picnic lunch in a saddlebag for us and was nearly ready to ride out by the time I got there; he teased me about it while I saddled my horse, who was a red dun saddlebred usually left in the care of a groom, since I was not much of a horsewoman.

We led our mounts outside and then Reed gave me a foot up, saying “Why does a little thing like you pick a great beast like him?”

“The height is a great novelty.” He was only eighteen hands high, certainly not the tallest horse in the stables.

It was a good day for a ride; warm but not hot, sunny but not blinding. We had our bows with us, but hunting was just a flimsy alibi for a day of skiving off. Once we’d reached the cover of the Forest Arden, we slowed to an easy trot with no particular direction or destination in mind.

I tilted my head back and took a deep breath of the clean, fresh air. “Ah, I love this forest.” I fought for it when Eric ordered it burned. I’d never been so angry with him.

“It’s like home to me,” said Reed. “I’ve spent practically my whole life in this wood.”

“Killed my first stag over in that glade. Julian was quite jealous, he swore it was his score. I had to give him the hide to quiet him.”

“I once hid in that tree from my brothers. They had to call the Rangers to get me down. Said they’d caught squirrels bare-handed more easily.”

“Why wouldn’t you come down? For the Rangers, at least?”

“I knew my mother would be livid with me.”

We stopped sometime after midday to eat lunch by a stream.

“Evelyn,” he said abruptly, “you’re a very singular woman.”

Taken aback, I paused and waited for further information. There was none, and my curiosity won out. “Yes?” I prompted. “Goodness, this must be serious.”

“I got my orders this morning. They want me back at the border.”

“What? No! Why?”

“Your uncle Julian does not exactly account himself to archers, Evelyn.” Reed tossed the heel of his bread into the swimming hole, where it was promptly torn apart by lurking fish. “It was a nice holiday, coming back to the city, but it was only that.”

“But you can’t just  _ leave _ …”

“I’m not sure you understand how the military works, milady.” He nudged my foot with his. “Your archery’s back up to snuff, you didn’t need me anymore anyway.”

I pushed his shoulder. “Reed, don’t be stupid.”

“I know, I know. You have Lord Martin now, though. You won’t be lonely.”

“Why should it matter if Martin’s back?”

“Right,” he said, rolling his eyes theatrically, “because you weren’t pining after him.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The nurses and maids all thought it was incredibly romantic that you sat with him every night. They like to talk to the soldiers and guards in the common hall and use you and m’lord to try and drum up some romance of their own.” Reed smirked. “They were all a-dither this morning.”

“Oh, shut up—you’re having a go at me.”

“You’d think someone would have thought of true love’s kiss sooner, but Lady Fiona is not known for her sentimentality. Good thing you were about, eh?”

“Where do people get this?”

“You realize since his father is king the romantics are just looking for something to excite themselves, right? The broken-hearted heroine of Patternfall is just the ticket.”

“You’re such a heel.”

“The ones who were rooting for Merlin are inconsolable, I tell you.”

“Well you don’t have to encourage them—any of them.”

“I don’t, trust me, I don’t. It doesn’t matter, though, they don’t need  _ any _ encouragement. They fuel the insanity themselves.” He was teasing, clearly, but he had an astonishingly convincing bluff, so I couldn’t tell exactly where he stood on the issue. “I will miss you.”

On the far bank, a doe stepped gingerly out of the tree line and began nosing about the water’s edge. A beautiful specimen, which, as per our official agenda, should have but moments to live. Our bows were still on our saddles, though, and so the idyllic scene would remain unsullied. 

“I’ll miss you, too.”

* * *

Garth’s casket was the size of a small barge. A funeral wagon transported it to the wall of the city, and from there Gérard, Caine, Benedict, Bleys, Blaine, and Martin carried it nearly to Arden. We buried him beneath a great tree, with Random solemnly presiding over the service.

I had not known Garth well, but I had liked him. Everyone, it seemed, had liked him; there was more than one distraught attendee among us. Martin stood by me, his presence a comfort. I was glad to have him back, but it felt like we’d bought him with Garth’s life. A dishonorable trade.

We—the “children”—had spent the morning in a parlor waiting for the services to begin. It was the same parlor they always stashed us in, which Martin had decided to call “the playpen.” While Shade, Ronin, and Naddia had passed the time drinking—Blaine rather conspicuously playing a bartender who refused to cut them off—Martin and I had retreated to a corner and caught ourselves up to each other’s activities since we’d last parted. He had adjusted nicely to being a proper prince, it seemed, in that he carried on as usual and thought fuck-all of social protocol. He wasn’t obnoxious, he was simply unhindered by the sense of societal obligations that tethered people like me.

“Youth sheds many a skin.” Random’s voice didn’t sound at all his own. As far as I knew, this was the first royal funeral he had presided over. “For this son of Amber, many a skin was left unshed, so short a time he had with us.”

Amber has no true organized religion or written book of prayer and ritual, but the more devout among us pay some homage to Mother Nature and the legendary Unicorn, building shrines in the city and the forest where the creature has supposedly been seen through the ages. We also have an oral tradition of proverbs that have survived the ages, and a simple recitation of these each followed by a comment on the deceased coupled with a eulogy composes our funereal rites.

“Give back to nature what nature has given to you. We return Garth to the soil from which our father Oberon was formed, from which Arden grows and Kolvir slopes.” The casket was already in the ground, but not yet covered. Gérard held a shield which I was sure Garth had never once put to use, but belonged to him nonetheless. I wondered if it would go in the ground with him or if Gérard would keep it. “We can learn many things from Garth, though we never got the chance to know him well: A soft answer turns away anger. Say only a little but say it well. Amber casts many shadows, and each of them will mourn his loss in its own way. A man such as Garth cannot step away but leave a glaring absence in his wake.”

Random was approaching the end of his sense in this speech; I was not the only one to notice, as evidenced by Martin leaning in and murmuring to me, “Wrap it up, Dad.”

He did finish shortly after that, after a quick recap of Garth’s limited experiences in Amber and some vague references to his life elsewhere, of which we knew little. Then Gérard set the shield down in the grave and pushed a portion of earth in. One by one, we each stepped forward to toss the customary handful of soil onto the casket.

I fell in step with Martin as the party started the weary trek back to the castle. “I hate funerals,” I said.

“They’re not exactly meant to be enjoyed.”

The reception, on the other hand, was; it was a subdued but pleasant gathering in one of the parlors, with a buffet set out and a small bar. In honor of Garth, I ordered myself a neat whiskey before making my rounds about the room. I’d been avoiding most of the family since our return from Calverton, so I was overdue in my civilities. I listened more than I spoke; well, appeared to listen. I was keeping a mental tab on Martin, and, unavoidably, thinking of Merlin. I desperately to just get all my kittens in a box and keep them safe until the danger had passed, but with Merlin out of my reach, I could only wonder if Corwin was adequate. He’s let us all down before and I’m sure he’ll let us all down again. Would this add to the tally, though? There was no way to know.

_ Not here _ , I thought. 

I’d already decided that Merlin must be brought up to date on what we knew, and brought back to the castle. Amber was no longer as dear to me as it had once been, but it was safest place by far.

Blaine brushed past me, startling me from my reverie. He retrieved a drunken Naddia from the bore of Ronin. She seemed grateful for the salvation, but also like he’d interrupted a conversation she’d hoped to finish. I hadn’t been forced to interact much with that trio of cousins in what seemed to be weeks, but nonetheless I’d noticed a change in her demeanor. She’d been somewhat shunned by the family, from what I’d seen, since the revelations about Brand. For some reason, I hadn’t really taken pleasure in this misfortune of hers. I hadn’t thought to. To be honest, I didn’t much care either way anymore.

I scanned the room of somber socializing and caught Martin’s eye. He smiled in acknowledgement and gestured subtly. We met at the drink cart.

“I feel as though I’ve been to a thousand of these,” he said. “‘Always a pallbearer,’ you know.”

“You say that as though you envy the corpse,” I remarked.

“All I know is that I would be happy to never attend another.”

“We may not be so lucky, before this is all over.”

“Oh, we will most certainly not be so. Ill luck runs in the family.” Martin reached over and brushed a hand over my hair. “Dandelion fuzz. Though you’re the outdoorsy type now, aren’t you, so you’re used to it.” His smile was mischievous, but when I didn’t deign to ask what he meant, he dropped it.

“I wish Merlin were here,” I said, trying to sound simply conversational.

“Me too. Nowhere is safe, but we may as well be in peril together.” He shrugged. “You know, as a family.”

I sipped my drink. I had to choose my words carefully. “But would the king let anyone go seek him?”

“Certainly not.”

“I wonder if there’s a way around that.”

“Nothing legal,” he said shortly.

_ He just can’t make it easy, can he?  _ “But…which is the greater sin, I wonder? Risk Merlin and the realm or risk the king’s wrath?” Martin said nothing, but poured himself another tumbler. “It’s an intriguing paradox, don’t you think?”

“Evelyn, if you want me to help you commit treason and disobey my father by leaving Amber undetected to seek out Merlin, just say so.”

To speak of it plainly was treason indeed; what if we were overheard? “It might be helpful if someone—”

“Just. Say so.”

Candor could condemn us both. “If someone were to—”

“No, no. Stop mincing words, stop playing gambits. Not with me.”

“Martin, I want you to help me commit treason and disobey your father by leaving Amber undetected to seek out Merlin.”

He knocked back what remained of his drink. “I'm on it.”

* * *

 

As the party broke up, there was little reason to hang about—even just for appearances. I slipped out and made my way to the library. Thankfully, I was alone there, so I began pulling books from the shelves; books on Shadow walking, books on the Pattern—things I already knew about, but subjects on which one can never stop learning. Any information I could glean would be useful.

The door creaked open and I glanced up casually. Naddia entered, but didn’t approach. She settled at a table clear on the other side of the library and immersed herself in some text or another. I put her out of my mind and focused on a map I was fully intending to steal.

The light streaming in from the windows grew gold, then dim. Servants would be in soon to light the lamps, and I’d rather not be seen by the gossipers—who knew what tales they’d spin next.

I folded the map up and tucked it in a pocket, put all the books back in their proper places, and left without acknowledging Naddia; she did me the same courtesy and ignored my presence entirely.

It wasn’t terribly late, but it was late enough that I didn’t run into anyone on my way down to the soldier’s quarter. I peeked in the armory and found some of my guard acquaintances, but none I knew well. Out in the training yard, a few men were engaging in what seemed to be an informal and drunken boxing match. Acting as a lackadaisical referee, Reed sat on the sideline.

I dropped down on the ground next to him. “Can we talk here?”

“Certainly. Those idiots can barely hear themselves over their own racket.”

He didn’t like my plan, of course. What little I could tell of it, that is—I didn’t want to compromise him should my uncles press him for information in the event I was caught or my absence noted. It hadn’t occurred to me up to that point, but I had no idea which would win out in a boxing match: his loyalty to me as a friend and a once-lover, or his oaths to the Rangers and my uncle Julian.


	12. Escapist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Martin and Evelyn commit treason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5Fq0WhgzaY

 

_Western Stables, ten o'clock_

Martin's rushed scrawl had been slipped under my bedroom at some point in the night. Four words—four and a half, if you like. I admired his brevity.

A breeze snaked in through the balcony doors I'd left open; I found that cold night air helped me wake from nightmares more easily. Nightmares which had receded significantly since I'd taken up with Reed, but I nonetheless anticipated every time I went to sleep.

I scratched my scalp, regarding the note groggily. I was still in my nightdress, bare-footed, hair a feral mess. Wilderness-striding adventurer-heroine I was not.

_My last hours in Amber...what to do?_ I folded the paper and set it on my bed as I went to the wardrobe. _I have time to go down to the range for a minute._ I dressed in layers of sturdy but light clothes good for travel, and picked out a small satchel to stand in as an overnight bag. The items singular enough to warrant packing were few and small; a buck knife, a map, my deck of Trumps, my spyglass... I looked around my room. _What else?_

I unlocked and opened my trunk and rifled through. No need for trinkets or love letters on this journey. As I reached to close the lid, I spotted the small, satin-lined box that held the pearl necklace Merlin had given me once upon a time. Sentimentality got the better of me; I left the box and the comb, but fastened the silver chain around my neck and tucked the pearl in my collar for safekeeping.

As prepared as I felt I could be and with two hours still to spare, I decided to keep up the pretense of business as usual and go down to the shooting range. I stopped by the kitchens on my way to the armory and nicked some bread and cheese, wrapped up in a cloth.

A kitchen maid spotted me and whispered something to her companion as I slipped out. I thought I heard Reed's name, which made me pause for a split second.

_Oh god, what are they saying now?_ I hadn't considered the repercussions within the social discourse of hanging about with Reed so much. I waited out of sight, just outside the door to the kitchen, listening.

"She gets all the good ones."

"Of course she does, she's the blood of Amber."

"So what happened with them?"

"He's back in Arden now, for who-knows how long. Rumor is that he volunteered, since the prince recovered. He wouldn't stand in their way but he couldn't bear to see them together."

"Poor thing!"

"I know! But she's been gone so long and changed so much—and then there's that Rebman lady to contend with, so who knows if Lord Martin even still wants her?"

"She just can't catch a break, can she?"

I rolled my eyes. _I really can't._

The armory seemed very ominous; I hadn't realized how accustomed I'd become to finding it lit, occupied, and busy with activity in the wee hours of the mornings. It occurred to me that I had no idea what sort of hours Reed kept, what sort of things may have made him rise so long before dawn. What demons plagued him? I knew his leg haunted him, but we'd usually discussed my defects rather than his.

_How very selfish I've been._

I took a candle from an alcove across the corridor to light my way through the obstacle course of equipment. I checked all my blades to be sure they hadn't dulled; some required a quick pass over the whetstone, but nothing extensive. I arranged the weapons I would be taking with me in the locker for easy grabbing if haste should be required later, then took my bow and a quiver and headed down to the range.

Everything seemed to be very sharply focused. I felt like every drop of dew on the grass and each gnarled finger of the undergrowth in the grove stood out. Even the soft sounds of wind in the trees and birds in the brush seemed oppressive.

I wondered if Reed really had volunteered for another tour in the forest or if that was simply gossip. We'd parted civilly, but I felt there had been a chill between us; I'd told him what I could of my departure, and he encouraged me to take reinforcements. I refused, of course. (Who on earth would I take? Martin was the obvious choice, but there was no way he could slip away unnoticed—and if he'd wanted to go with me, he would have said as much by now. It stung a bit that he hadn't offered, but it didn't really matter in the end; we both would have known the offer to be empty, the help impossible.) Reed had pressed and pressed the issue, all but begging me to take one of my cousins with me, but seemed for some reason unable to understand and concede that I could not. He knew my mind on these things—we'd grown so close so quickly, I'd poured my thoughts and fears into him like a human diary. Finally, he'd said, "I don't want to fight," and we said our farewells. I promised to write if I could, to let him know I was safe if that was the case, but it didn't seem to matter; the damage was done.

_Ah, well. It was a stolen moment for us before, and it's a stolen moment for us again._ I tried to put him from my mind, as I had many times before, with other past lovers and lost friends. _It was nothing._

* * *

I was a few minutes early to the stables; I'd been so careful not to be late, I'd overshot it a bit. I took this time and prepared my tack, polishing my saddle and cleaning mud from the stirrups. I brushed down my horse and checked his shoes. He'd acquired quite a bit of dirt and a few pebbles in his hooves, which should have been discovered by a groom and not by me. I focused my anger into supreme concentration as I cleaned them, carefully avoiding the bar and frog as I scraped the pick along the shoe.

I wasn't sure I would even need to utilize him, but if I did I wanted him ready. The exercise also gave me an excuse to be hanging about the stables, which was useful.

"Ev," came a soft voice. I looked over my shoulder at Martin, standing in the door of the stall. "Don't worry, we're alone."

I set the hoof down gently and straightened up.

"Ah, good old Griffin." Martin reached forward and rubbed the creature's nose. "I was always envious of this horse. He was wasted on you."

"He really was. He's a good mount."

"Fast and fearless." He shot a crooked smile at me. "If you die, can I keep him?"

"He was a gift from your father, so I suppose it's fitting." I patted the side of his neck. "I take it that means he won't be galloping into the afterlife with me?"

"Not this go around." Martin glanced over his shoulder to be sure we were alone, but stepped close and lowered his voice all the same. We broke the cardinal rule of a stable and let the horse stand between us and the door. "I've found a way out of the Golden Circle, a shortcut."

"How?" He shook his head. "All right then, where?"

"The king's study."

_Oh. That makes things difficult._ Sneaking into the king's study unseen would be tricky, to say the least.

"Evelyn—are you sure you want to do this?"

"We can't leave Merlin out in the dark." I hated to admit it, but—"And we may need Corwin."

"Do you even know where you're going? How do you think you'll find them?"

"Where was this concern yesterday?"

"I just want you to be sure." Martin studied my face carefully, and he must have seen that I was. "This is treason, you know."

"I know. You know that I know." I took his hand, squeezed it. "All right?"

There was a noise near the stable door; someone was taking tack down from the wall—unsuccessfully, judging by the clatter.

Martin leaned in close, speaking quickly and quietly. "Go to his study, stand in front of the tapestry to the right of the suit of armor. Dworkin made it, you can use it like a Trump but it's not actually a Trump. You'll be just outside Arden, just into Shadow. Shifting will be difficult, but you can do it. If they notice you're gone I'll do my best to cover for you, but they'll look for you before too long, it's inevitable."

"What if Random is there in the study?"

"He won't be. I'll take care of it."

"Hello?" Whoever was out in the main area must have noticed the open stall door.

"Goodbye, Martin. Thank you."

"Just come home. And bring our boy back."

"Is someone there?"

Martin gave me a quick goodbye kiss. "Ten minutes." Then he was gone, pulling the door behind him and making some brief explanation to the intruder as he went.

I waited until it was quiet, then rubbed Griffin's muzzle as I left the stall, mumbling "Farewell, friend."

"My lady?" The stable boy had not left after Martin, apparently, but sat down to polish a saddle. His eyes flicked to Griffin's stall.

"His hooves were a righteous mess," I informed the boy. "Completely neglected. If I ever find them in such a state again, it's your job."

Slinging my satchel over my shoulder, I went out into the yard. I tried not to think about what the story would be after it was ground through the rumor mill, because, as Reed had said, there was no stopping it—and I knew, for I had served as the miller often enough.

* * *

 

Several servants and guards passed me in the corridors; I tried to avoid undue attention as much as I could. I debated taking a more roundabout route and making use of some secret ways, but if I should be seen going that path it would cast far more suspicion on me than this one. I was learning the hard way a truth I'd been able to skirt my whole life: usually there are no win conditions, just gentler-loss ones.

I did stop before going into the wing where the imperial quarters were situated to peer around the corner, my back pressed against the wall. Deserted. I took a deep breath and started down the hallway.

A door opened—the door to the king's study. Voices—Random came into the hall, speaking to someone following just behind him. I panicked and ducked into an alcove behind a tapestry.

  
"You _will not_ use the Pattern to go _anywhere_ but the top of the stairs, understand?" Random was saying.

"Of course," Blaine's voice answered.

I peeked out from around the tapestry to confirm this identification at the exact wrong moment; Blaine looked directly at me as they passed, and upon seeing me faltered ever so slightly in his steps. He looked at Random's back as he walked ahead, and back at me. I shook my head imploringly and with one more glance at the king he mouthed ' _You owe me_ ' and continued on.

I leaned back against the cold stone of the wall, trying to quiet my harsh breath. I listened to the receding footsteps until they were gone entirely.

I had to move quickly. I made sure the coast was clear, then darted to the study door, slipped inside and shut it behind me.

The last time I'd been in here, the place had belonged to Eric. Rather than stand there and play Spot The Difference, I crossed over to the suit of armor and stepped to its right. I studied the tapestry before me; it was a scene of idyllic wilderness, with a lazy river snaking through in the background, and berry bushes in the forefront. Filling out the middle, tall, proud trees and lush undergrowth. And then I was amid it.

I turned in a circle, surveying my surroundings. I was amazed at how seamless and sensationless the transportation had been.

A bird of prey screeched somewhere far overhead, making me glance up. It was too small to be Julian's falcon, but it set a fire under me nonetheless. I ran, concentrating on a subtle shift.

_I bet there's a horse somewhere around here_ , I thought, and sure enough, I came round a tree and saw a Dales pony ready and waiting for me. I slowed only to grab hold of the reins and warn the horse of my intentions as I got my foot in the stirrup. I pulled myself up into the saddle and spurred the mare into a gallop.

My bicycle would be better, seeing as it needed neither rest nor water to run, but it left distinctive tracks and I wanted to take every precaution until I was a more comfortable distance from Amber. I had a head start, to be sure, but the forest Arden is a graveyard of souls who underestimated my uncle Julian.

_I need a hard-packed road. Or stone. Something I can't put prints in._

The heavy _thud_ of hoofs on dirt and moss became the sharp _crack!_ of metal shoes on stone. I couldn't Hellride, because it may have left a sort of contrail through Shadow. Also, I didn't know exactly where I was going. I had a destination in mind, but no location, so I had to simply tweak the Shadows I rode through until I got the scenery right.

She was a good mount, didn't tire easily. We followed the stone road a long way, skirting villages when we came across them. Eventually, though, she needed rest—and so did I. I decided there was probably an empty cottage out here in the middle of nowhere, and lo and behold, there it was.

I wanted there to be a water trough next to the door, and there was one, which the horse went directly to. She drank her fill and munched on the lush grass as I removed the tack and rubbed her down. I foraged in the little garden for carrots and peas to round out the traveler's bread I'd brought, then took the horse inside with me to bed down. I wanted any passerby to see an abandoned cottage, a glade devoid of animate life. I wanted to be a ghost.

The cot in the corner wasn't as comfortable as my own bed, obviously, but it was warm and dry, which was more than I could say for the outdoors if the pattering on the rooftop through the night was any indication. There wasn't any lightning or thunder. Even so, the horse seemed a bit agitated before she finally settled down to sleep.

I thought ruefully of a camping trip with the boys, when we were young. Just in Arden, and with Deidre and Corwin chaperoning from a distance and pretending they weren't. They wanted to let us think we were striking out on our own, and we wanted to let them think we didn't know they were shagging each other. Call it symbiotic. Martin said he'd start a campfire and, little pyro that he was, nearly burned the whole glade down. Merlin said he'd catch some fish to cook but scratched a sketch of the swimming hole out on the diving rock instead. I said I'd roll out the mats and blankets and damn it, that's what I did.

Merlin told some story he thought qualified as scary, and got angry when Martin and I couldn't contain our laughter.

_'But do you get it? They'd all drowned! They'd_ drowned _!'_

_'We get it!' Martin cackled. He rolled onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows. 'Merlin, I'm Rebman. Drowning is something pathetic you Amberites do.'_

_'I'm half-Chaos, for all you know I can shift shape into a tigershark!'_

_'Easy tiger, you're both freaks. I'm the only pureblood here, you peasants.' Merlin nudged my shoulder with his foot. 'Ugh, get that away from me. I mean it, Merlin. Merlin, stop!'_

And that's the story of how Martin's cloak caught fire and Corwin and Deidre had to pull all three of us out of the river as it started to pour down rain.

I chuckled, rolled over and went to sleep.


	13. Hopeless Wanderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are implications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rId6PKlDXeU

 

The water I splashed on my face tasted strangely sweet, like rosewater.

_Nearly there_ , I thought. I glanced around; the scene was that of a peaceful, isolated lake. No fae con-women come to seduce me. _Pity._

I’d been riding through Shadow for a few days now, though I didn’t know what that equated to in Amber. Less than a day, with any luck. The advantage of shifting rather than plowing through to the final destination is that one may choose to pass through Shadows that run on a faster or slower clock as it suits. For me, it was vital to cover as much ground as possible with as little time passing in Amber as possible. Every minute, the chances of my absence being noticed grew considerably.

I filled a canteen I had picked up in my travels, then stood, stretched, and returned to my bike. The horse had earned her freedom and been turned loose as soon as I could spare her. I’d left her in a quiet little shadow in a region free of mountain lions or coyotes, so she could live there as long as the green grass would sustain her.

I took to the road once again; it was autumn in these forest shadows, crisp and golden. The day waned into twilight quickly and I rode on through the night. It’s an interesting experience, shadow-walking at night is. The stars shift as you pass through one world to the next, sometimes subtly, sometimes darting across the sky like dancers in a Virginia reel. It was a shame that they were obstructed by the trees, so I moved my path from the woods to a meadow. My Chapelli handled much more smoothly than a horse’s gait, allowing for a steadier view of the galaxies.

Off to my left, a small hill cut into the sky, the silhouette of an enormous, gnarled tree perched atop. I’d never seen it myself, but I knew it was Ygg, the tree Corwin had spoken of, the tree planted by Oberon at the beginning of everything. It was the halfway point between the Courts and Amber, and a sure sign that I was near to Corwin’s Pattern.

Even having read Corwin’s account of Patternfall and the ordeal of drawing his own Pattern, I wondered what the process was actually like. Much of Corwin’s story was awkwardly worded and riddled with muddled metaphor. I’d never had any interest in attuning to the Jewel and taking the throne—too much responsibility, without even the reward of total domination—but to have my own Pattern…that would be a rarity. I didn’t know if it was worth all the trouble, though. Having power over the Jewel took a great deal out of a person, I knew, as though it cost money one didn’t have, creating a debt that affected everything from mindset to simple luck. Strange.

* * *

I came upon it somewhat by accident. I had the good luck of skipping the long climb up the rocky cliff side and stumbling right onto the plateau—nearly onto the Pattern itself. I skidded to a halt and bit it in a serious way on the thin grass, but thankfully avoiding breaching the outer curve of the structure.

In the style of a graceful lady, I swore and clambered to my feet, brushing dirt from my breeches. I picked gravel out of the heel of my hand as I walked around the perimeter. Some of it was shrouded in the pre-dawn fog that engulfed the mountaintop, but from what I could see it was very much like the Pattern I’d walked some years ago. It had a bit of Corwin flare to it, but it’s hard to describe exactly how so.

The start of it was abrupt, suddenly at my feet. Remembering how difficult even that partial Patternwalk a few weeks ago was, I found myself balking slightly. I was fatigued and road-weary, and winded as hell.

To buy a little time before I had to actually confront the Pattern, I went back for my bike and brought it to the tree at the Pattern’s start. I leaned back against the tree and caught my breath.

“Okay, that’s enough. I’ll breathe when I’m dead.”

I rolled my shoulders in a vain attempt to work out a cramp as I approached the start. Without thinking too much about it, I took the first step—or didn’t. My foot could not touch the surface, as though a magnetic force was pushing me away.

_It’s rejecting me._ Was it simply a barrier set up by Corwin to protect himself from outsiders? I pulled a pocket knife from my satchel and pricked my thumb. I knelt down and held my hand over the Pattern. A few drops of blood fell towards it, then suddenly turned away as they descended and slid onto the grass instead. I was the blood of Amber, yes, which allowed me to walk the Pattern there; but I was not the blood of Corwin, and so I could not walk his Pattern.

I sat down on the grass, perplexed. _What now? I can’t go back alone, I’ve committed treason._ I reached up into the basket of my bike for something to eat. _Fucking Corwin._

As I ate the last of my supplies, I weighed my options. It would be pointless to simply go live in a shadow somewhere, as Brand would be destroying them all shortly. I could go…where could I go?

_The Courts, maybe_ , I thought suddenly. Allies at the other end of reality would not be invaluable, either in this conflict or any other. It was a dangerous place to be an outsider, however; I was unsure of going there on my own. If I had Merlin with me, it would be a different story. Merlin had more right to be there than I on any given day.

Everything seemed to come back to Merlin. He was always going to be the special one—being of the parentage he was, having the skills he had, looking the way he looked… Merlin was the poster child for heroic figures. The obvious target for Brand but somehow immune to his influence. And somehow beyond my reach.

Absentmindedly, I fiddled with the silver chain around my neck.

_Wait._

I pulled the pearl out from under my shirt. Merlin had said he’d made the pearl himself out of Shadow and Pattern. I’d simply thought him to be bragging, trying to one-up Martin’s gift, but I’d always treasured it regardless. It was understated yet elegant—much like Merlin, and very much unlike myself.

_I wonder…_

It was a longshot, but it would be stupid to give up and make the long trek to the Courts without trying every stupid theory first. I took the necklace off as I stood, and approached this young Pattern. I held the pearl pendant out over the cosmic design and concentrated on Merlin and the night he’d given me this gift.

What had he looked like? He’d let his hair grow a bit long, to annoy his strict tutor. He’d been wearing…red? No, blue. Yes, now it was coming back to me. He’d been fencing with Martin in the garden and had a twig in his hair. I tried to remember his laugh, the way he gestured when he spoke. I tried to see his father in him, see this Pattern in him. I tried to see the Pattern in the pearl (if indeed it was in there at all). I tried to see Merlin in it all.

It may have been a trick of the wind, but I thought I could hear Merlin faintly. Encouraged by this, I threw all of my energy into strengthening this connection.

_…but I wasn’t sure, so—hang on. What… Evelyn?_

“Merlin!” I laughed with relief.

_Evelyn, what the hell?_ How _the hell? Why the—_

“Merlin, bring me through!”

_This isn’t a Trump, I don’t know how! Where are you?_

“Please, I can’t hold the connection much longer, just try.”

It was a sensation like being pulled through a space a bit too small to actually fit through, and at the same time like being caught up in a wave; pushed along and then suddenly lifted and hurled onto the beach.

When my feet touched solid ground, the momentum carrying me forward didn’t immediately dissipate, and I crashed into something—I couldn’t see what, I couldn’t see at all—and clattered to the ground.

“Seven hells, Evelyn, how much could you possibly weigh?” Merlin sat up and rubbed the back of his head.

“Shut up. Ow…” I rolled onto my back, clutching my twice-battered arm. “Thank you. Oh—I was so scared I’d have to go to the Courts by myself, thank you so much. All that fuss for a dead end would have been so embarrassing.”

“I wouldn’t choose to do that again, though—was it bad for you, too?” Merlin got to his feet, clearly with a sore backside. “Come on,” he said, trying not to wince, “can you stand?” He pulled me up and brushed me off. “It’s good to see you, though.”

“And you. I’ve been so worried.” I embraced him, incredibly tired and incredibly glad.

“All right, all right,” said a voice off to the side. Corwin stepped forward, decked out in the array of a rich and mighty king and looking less than pleased to see me. “Break it up.”


	14. Happy Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a happy family, briefly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-rB0pHI9fU

In a fit of civility, Corwin offered me tea served in the gardens. A great, shaggy hound, which I hadn’t noticed upon my arrival, followed Corwin like a shadow and sat at attention next to his chair. Dara, still in her fencing gear, joined us shortly after we’d sat down; I was amazed by the picture of domestic harmony the three of them presented. Dara reached over to brush Merlin’s hair back from his face, causing him to grimace at her and push her hand away. Corwin smiled to himself and poured Dara’s tea for her, earning himself a smile in return and a caress of the cheek. All that was missing was a glow of expectant motherhood.

_ Oh, save us _ , I cringed inwardly at the thought and sipped my tea. Merlin slid the plate of scones across the table to me.

I decided to break my silence, which I’d held almost since my arrival, and addressed Corwin. “What do you call this place, Uncle?”

“Argent. It is a sort of capital of my Pattern’s shadows.”

“Looks quite a lot like Amber.” Even the hedge maze was identical to that in Castle Amber’s gardens. The mountain range in the distance was very nearly the same as well.

"I suppose it’s my Amber.”

“It’s lovely,” I assured him. He was still regarding me suspiciously.

“All the more so for your arrival,” Merlin interjected, clearly trying to draw Corwin’s attention from me for a moment. “Although I have to say it’s something of a mystery to me how you accomplished it.”

“Well, you did the heavy lifting.”

“That’s true—never mind, then.”

“Let’s not dance around it,” Corwin said abruptly. “Evelyn, I have drawn a Pattern with which you are genetically incompatible, and I have designed this system of Shadows so that one may not traverse without having been an initiate of my Pattern. Yet you suddenly appear, before my very eyes, with the fogs of mystery and menace still swirling about you and none worse for the wear.”

I sipped my tea. “Have you asked a question, Uncle?” Merlin kicked me under the table.

He glared at me. “I find it all extremely suspect. How did you get here, and  _ why _ ?”

I placed my cup on its saucer and set my hands in my lap. If he was going to be rude, I was going to be vexing. “I traveled to your Pattern and did attempt to walk it, but it rejected me.”

“How did you find it?”

“It was in your book.”

Dara looked surprised and said, “I wasn’t aware anyone had read it.”

“I don't believe anyone else has.”

Merlin made a sound that may have been a snicker but quickly became a cough. Corwin shot him a look and Merlin scrutinized something very interesting over by the garden fountain.

“How did you contact my son when I had specifically placed him beyond reach?”

_ “My son.” As if he owns him. _

“I used your pattern like I would a Trump, to connect to Merlin. He brought me through.”

“I will get you back for that one,” Merlin promised.

“I still don’t fully understand how you managed it, though. How could you contact Merlin via  _ my _ Pattern?”

I wasn’t sure if I should share the bit about the necklace with them. I wasn’t sure what it meant, that such a simple thing could be such a powerful tool. Regardless of the true significance, I doubted Corwin would take any implications kindly. As Flora had said, I am Eric’s creature entirely.

“He is your son, don’t you have eyes?”  _ Bad choice _ , I thought suddenly, remembering; “I thought perhaps the blood bond between you would be sufficient to allow me access to him through your Pattern.” I took up my tea again. “It was a difficult process, if that makes you feel better.”

Corwin seemed to ponder that a moment. He looked off into the distance and didn’t say anything at first; probably rambling on with one of his soliloquies, I thought.

I looked over at Merlin, saw him doodling on a napkin. He glanced up at me, saw he’d been caught, and grinned. Subtle and mischievous, that one.

“You still haven’t told us why you came here,” said Dara. “And I think that’s likely to be the best part of the whole story.”

I finished off my tea and started explaining, about Martin’s coma and Brand’s schemes, Martin’s awakening and Garth’s death and so on. I brought them up to speed as best I could—I had to admit there were some plot points I was not present for or privy to, and a few details I simply left out entirely.

It was Dara who broke the silence. “Well,” she said, standing up. “Amber’s affairs are none of mine.”

“Which is to say you can’t be bothered?” Merlin accused.

“Yes, precisely. I’ll see you at dinner.” She pinched his cheek as she passed him.

I looked to my uncle. “What do you have to say about it all?”

He shook his head, standing. “I need a drink.” The family motto.

* * *

 

Corwin’s study was all dark-stained mahogany with crystal and silver accents. In the corner, Corwin’s ancient armor arranged to look like a knight standing at ease; the inanimate guard’s hands rested on the hilt of a great sword—the legendary Grayswindir. A great tapestry hung upon one wall. I gravitated towards it while Corwin and Merlin continued to the other side of the room, talking about people whose names I didn’t recognize and events that did not concern me.

The tapestry was a map, with Argent at the center. This, in and of itself, was not unusual; what was peculiar was that the piece seemed to be under active construction. Designs were half-finished, the thread hanging off and falling to the floor, where spools and ribbons of all widths and colors were piled in and scattered about a large wicker basket. A faded pincushion perched atop the mess, stuck full of an entire set of embroidery needles.

“Dad’s directing a little art project,” said Merlin, suddenly at my elbow. He handed me a crystal tumbler full of ruby-red liquid, keeping another for himself.

I took a sip and was surprised to find it tasted like scotch, but I took it in stride and nodded at the tapestry. “What’s happening here?”

“We’re mapping the nearer shadows, but we’re still in our Golden Circle. We haven’t been able to venture beyond this mountain range, there are some hill tribes giving us trouble.”

“You haven’t been out there, have you?”

He pulled the collar of his shirt to one side to show the edge of cloth bandaging. “Don’t worry, I didn’t have fun.” He glanced over at Corwin and said, “I think he wanted to bond over some carnage.”

“Well, he’s blood of Amber all right.” I took another drink and reached up to brush my fingers over some intricate stitching. “What’s this? Your Rebma?”

“Oh, better—it’s fascinating,” Merlin launched into an explanation of his exploration of Argent’s Golden Circle. I tried to pay attention, but I was missing a great deal of context. Things did not work precisely the same here as they did in Amber, and I had no idea the extent or variety of these nuances, that would make the things of which Merlin spoke interesting.

Before Merlin could delve too deeply into their adventures, Corwin declared himself ready to confer, and we relocated to armchairs by the stone fireplace. Strange relics were lined up on the mahogany mantle. The dog paced for a moment before laying down on the rug, thus completing the Gothic scene.

“Let’s get right down to it,” Corwin said. “What is it you want me to do?”

“I want you to  _ help _ .” I hadn’t thought it would actually need saying. “You’ve faced Brand before, you know what he wants and what he’s capable of. Do you really think you’ll be safe here? Brand will come for you—last, perhaps, but he’ll come for you all the same.”

“He is formless,” he countered, “he cannot be much more than a nuisance until that changes.”

“He killed your nephew,” I said. “Gérard’s son is dead and you call it a nuisance? How many of us need to die for it to be more than a ‘nuisance?’”

Corwin held my gaze for a moment, seemingly unmoved. He looked away and took a drink. “I didn’t mean to offend. I’m just saying that I have Argent to think about as well. Dara. Merlin. I’ve done my part, I’ve fought Brand before. Let someone else take up the mantle and leave me be.”

“You and Random are the only two living— _ physical _ people able to use the Jewel of Judgement,” I pointed out. “Will you leave your brother alone in this battle?”

“Why don’t you learn to use it?”

“I don’t have the temperament.”

“Are you sure? You’re all Eric.”

_ Yes, and that worked out so well for him. The Jewel was bleeding him before he’d ever been struck in battle, even Fiona thought so. _

I didn’t say this, of course. Instead, “I’d rather have a seasoned helmsman steering the ship.”

Corwin nodded, pensive.

I decided to petition whatever family loyalty I personally could possibly inspire in him. “Uncle, please, help us.”

He regarded me with interest, as though he had mistaken me for someone else and only just now realized the error.

Then he stood, rather abruptly. Merlin and I rose as well; I wasn’t sure what exactly was happening.

“I’ll need to set some things in order before we leave.” He knocked back what was left of his drink, set the glass down on a side table, and gestured at us. “Go away.”

Merlin took my glass from my hand, set both his and mine on the table, and grabbed my and pulled me towards the door.

“Wait—” I pushed his hand away and turned back to Corwin, who stood at his desk, contemplating the papers and maps before him. “Uncle, I—well, I disobeyed a direct command of the king in coming here.”

“And?”

“Will you…protect me?”

Excellent poker face, Corwin has. Finally, he said, “Yes, I will. Now get out of my study, both of you, I have work to do.”

* * *

Argent had a slightly more modern feel to it than Amber; where Amber’s city streets were cobblestone and lined with thatched-roof dwellings, Argent’s were red brick with row-houses. They’d mastered the mechanics of the buggy but had not yet discovered a functioning automobile system.

Merlin and I walked around the upper quarter, which had clean sidewalks and scenic parks.

“How long has it been since we left Amber?”

“Just outside a week. How long has it been for you?”

“More than a month.” He smirked to himself. “And you’ll be missing by now, huh?” He chuckled. “‘Will you protect me’—why are you always so dramatic?”

“I don’t want to go back just to be thrown in a dungeon, and Random’s patience is wearing thin at best. We younglings haven’t exactly been compliant.” I stopped to study the display in a shop window. “Corwin has enough pull to keep Random from making an example of me—I hope, anyway. Maybe it’ll be your turn to rescue me next.”

“He won’t let them lock you up, you know he won’t.”

“I know no such thing.”

“Evelyn, he doesn’t hate you—why won’t you believe me?”

This was a point of ongoing debate; Merlin believed fervently that Corwin did not dislike me in any way and that I was imagining or willing the sentiment. But how could the ward of his great enemy not inspire some hatred in the man? It was perfectly reasonable. Besides, I didn’t like him either.

“I don’t want to have this argument again, Merlin.”

“You’ve got it in your head that there’s bad blood between you, but that died with Eric. You have to let it go.”

_ Well, I guess we’re having this argument again. _

Merlin continued to berate me. “What has he ever actually  _ done _ to you to make you think of him this way? What’s he done at all?”

“Patternfall—”

“Ev, come on, he saved our asses at the Siege.”

“Eric asked for peace, for the sake of Amber, and Corwin insisted on war. He came with an army at his back intending to overthrow the king and only at the last second chose to help.” It was infuriating that Corwin was hailed as the hero of Patternfall, the savior of Amber, when he had put us in such dire straits to begin with. “He laid siege to the castle in greed, his curse opened the door to the Black Road, his banner split our numbers, and if he’d been five minutes sooner Eric would owe him his life and if he’d been five minutes later I would not owe him mine, and I can forgive him for none of it. Patternfall gave us no heroes.”

“But you need him now. To use the Jewel. You trust him with that.”

“I resent the Jewel as well.” He scoffed. I answered; “It chose to save your father and not mine.”

He let out a frustrated sigh that became something of a growl, then he slung his arm over my shoulders.

“You infuriate me,” I told him.

“I missed you, too.”

“No, Merlin, you’re insufferable.”

“Aw, Ev.”

“Merlin—Merlin, get off me.” He let me go and we continued on our way through the marketplace. People recognized him and showed signs of deference as we passed, but there was no hullabaloo; Merlin hated that sort of thing, so I was glad for his sake. He was the subject of reverence and admiration wherever he went, but he wanted none of it. Who wouldn’t adore him, though? He looked like a dream, he was the progeny of two powerful lines, he had a sorcerer’s skill and artist’s eye, and he was handy with garrote in a pinch. And again, I thought he must be the key to our salvation.

“Merlin,” I said conversationally, taking the necklace out from under my shirt, “do you remember this pearl?"

“Hm? Oh, that. Of course I do. What about it?"

“Did you really make it yourself?”

He smiled. “Do you doubt my pearling prowess?”

“Come on, did you?”

“Of course I did.” He still sounded far too cheeky to be taken seriously.

“You’re impossible.” I lifted my hand to admire the more recent gift.

A faint shout from up the street made us turn. A man in the livery of Corwin’s house came galloping in on a horse decked out in the same.

“My prince!” he called out again. He met us and reined in. “Your father summons you.” The man dismounted offered the reins to Merlin. “He called for haste.”

“Right then, we won’t keep him waiting.” Merlin lifted himself up into the saddle and situated himself a bit forward in it. The soldier helped me up and gave Merlin some strange salute, then we were off. Merlin gestured randomly as we blazed up the cobblestone street. “So that was Argent.”


	15. It's Quiet Uptown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a scandal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rrsmUzqweBI

 

We met Merlin’s parents in the throne room. Dara stood on the dais, Corwin on the step below, and they exchanged some sweet farewells as Merlin and I watched awkwardly from the side. When Corwin finally pulled away from her, Dara beckoned her son over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Then she ascended to the throne and the menfolk came to stand by me, one on either side. Dara closed her eyes and folded her hands in her lap, and after a moment a mirage formed before us, obstructing our view of her; it was the entrance hall at Castle Amber. I suddenly had a vivid memory of stumbling into that hall in a disheveled evening gown, thrust into the company of stranger cousins.

Corwin stepped through first, and Merlin and I followed. The transport was as easy as that; none of the discomfort I’d experienced on my way  _ into  _ Argent.

The guards in the hall seemed startled by our sudden appearance, which was a bit strange. They went through a frankly inhumane amount of training to be stony and stalwart when on duty. I’d only ever seen them twitch in times of true crisis.

“Where’s the king?” asked Corwin. “I’ve come to see my brother.”

“The king is—indisposed, my lord.”

“I’m sure he’d accommodate me.”

I caught the other guard looking at me oddly. When our eyes met, he averted them.

“You.” I stepped up in front of him. He was at least a foot taller than me and he kept his eyes trained on the front door, looking right over my head. Coward. “What’s got you shaken?”

“There’s—been an incident, my lady. In the library.”

“What happened?” He shook his head.  _ He shook his head _ . “Excuse me?”

“I have orders, my lady.”

To hell with them, then. I started off in the direction of the library. I heard Merlin and Corwin follow.

There were a handful of guards posted in the hallway, all of them looking stricken and speaking in hushed tones. They fell silent when they saw us come round the corner and stood at attention. I knew their captain, but he wouldn’t look at me.

“What’s going on? At ease, Tom, hell—what’s happened?”

“That’s not for me to tell, m’lady.”

“Damn soldiers—” I tried to step around him, to go see for myself, but he gently held me back, exclaiming “No! Please—you should speak to your uncle.”

“Seeing as no one will tell us where the king  _ is _ , I think that’ll have to wait.” I pushed his hands away and moved to pass him again.

“Not the king—your uncle Caine is in the west dining room.”

“Tom, just tell me.” The longer this buildup took the more worried I was.

“It is not my place. Please, it is a matter for your family.”

Merlin tugged at my arm. “Come on, Ev. Let’s just go to Caine.”

Corwin had already turned back, and I clearly wouldn’t get anywhere with the guards, so I let Merlin lead me after.

“It’s nothing,” Merlin assured me. “Everyone’s just jumpy. I’ll bet Martin spilled some wine on a good rug and now the place is on lockdown.”

I nodded, but I didn’t want to hope for the best. Historically, that has made reality all the more painful. I prefer to be ready for the worst.

Caine, Ronin, and Blaine sat at the far end of the dining table. Ronin seemed in a daze, unaware of his surroundings, but the other two stood when we entered.

“Brother,” said Corwin. “What the hell’s happened?”

My uncle Caine has never been known for tact. There are some who think he hardly has a soul. I had known him long enough and well enough to know he is in possession of a soul, but he prefers not to use it most of the time. This was such a time.

“Martin is dead.”

My heart stuttered. The white noise of my own pulse exploded in my ears.

“Less than an hour ago, in the library. Random’s not taking it well, but that’s to be expected. Come have a drink with us.”

Corwin said something, but I’d stopped listening. Martin couldn’t be dead, he was waiting for me to come home—I was the one who was going to die, and he’d get my horse, that was the deal. Martin wasn’t the one I needed to worry about, he was safe in Amber—he was  _ in the fucking castle _ , he was at home base, he was  _ safe _ .

“How did this happen?” I asked, but I don’t think anybody heard me. Merlin pushed me into the seat next to Caine. He put a glass in my hand but I couldn’t summon the brain activity to lift it to my lips.  _ Martin can’t be dead. _

Corwin’s discussion with Caine was nearing classification as a quarrel —not because they disagreed, but because Caine is largely incapable of anything else. Corwin suddenly broke it off, exclaiming, “What the hell am I doing?—I should be with Random. I’m a shit brother.”

Caine held up his drink as if to toast him as he left the room. “No argument here.” As he passed by me on the way back to his own seat, he patted my shoulder.

“So what happens now?” asked Blaine in his bored, even tone.

“Your father has been contacted, he’s on his way back to Amber. We’ll wait to hold a trial until he arrives—”

I looked up at Blaine and stood so suddenly my chair nearly tipped over. “He’s covered in blood!”

“Your powers of observation were sorely missed, Evelyn,” Blaine said coolly. His white shirt was drenched all down the front with red. His face and hands had the flushed rash of one who has recently scrubbed blood from the skin, but he’d missed a spot near his left ear and down the side of his neck. “I was with Martin when he was shot.”

“ _ And why isn’t he in a dungeon?! _ That one, what’s that one doing here?” I gestured to Ronin, who suddenly came back to himself.

“Hey, I—”

“I didn’t kill Martin,” Blaine said coolly.

“Why the fuck should we trust you? You’ve had something up your sleeve since the second you stumbled in here—you were playing games in Calverton and you’re playing them here!  _ What did you do? _ ”

Caine stood and put a hand on my shoulder. Merlin grabbed the other, and grasped the hand that was on my sword. They must have known that I was about jump across the table and skewer Julian’s son.

“Evelyn, that’s enough,” said Caine. “He’s more secure here in this room with me than he’d be chained to a wall surrounded by a dozen guards.”

“He doesn’t look much like a prisoner—he should at least be in irons!” As if only to gall me, Blaine leaned back in his chair and sipped his drink comfortably. “You smirking bastard—”

Caine’s grip on my shoulder tightened. “Evelyn, enough. He’s innocent until proven guilty. Go, calm down. Grieve without violence.”

Merlin gently pulled at me, encouraging me to move. As I turned, Blaine had the bad judgment to speak up again; “Don’t forget,” he said conversationally, “you owe me.”

Without thinking, I turned and threw my drink in his face, then slammed the glass down on the table. “More than one, I’m sure!”

Blaine sputtered; Merlin dragged me away. I gave Ronin a hard slap upside the head as I passed him, just in case he was involved at all.

Merlin corralled me into the corridor and pulled the door shut behind us.

“Get off!”

“Evelyn, it’s okay. I understand—” He took my face in his hands. “I loved him too, we were brothers—”

“No,” I shoved him away. “No, I’m not ready to do this part. I’m sorry, I know you need me too, but—no, I’m not doing this.”

“All right. Come find me later, then.”

I left him there outside the dining room. I wasn’t sure where I was going, or what I’d do when I got there.

I didn’t remember walking to the monarch’s wing, as though I’d come to standing in the hallway. I could hear crying, wailing. There were guards posted all down the corridor, which was unusual—but under these circumstances, I realized, natural. They didn’t stop me from going to the door to the king’s quarters and entering.

There were only a handful of people present; one of Random’s advisors stood by the hearth with Benedict, speaking in low tones that were swallowed up by the sound of the fire. Flora stood next to the smaller sofa, on which Fiona sat with her arm around a distraught Vialle. Then there was Corwin, trying to wrangle Random, who was well beyond hysterical. He was screaming, pacing, knocking over small furniture. Whenever he tried to pick something up to throw it, Corwin gently pried it out of his hands and held him steady until the fit passed.

I didn’t know where to go, how to help. Flora looked over and saw me. She beckoned me over. I went and sat down on the other side of Vialle, who took my hand without a word and continued to cry quietly.

“Give me that.” Corwin confiscated a frame Random had snatched off the wall.

“I hardly knew him!” Random grabbed Corwin’s shoulders and shook him. “Corwin, I never even  _ knew  _ him! I was off being a fuckwit and he was raised an orphan!”

“Random, Morganthe never even said she was pregnant,” Corwin said.

“I was already gone by the time she knew! And now  _ she’s  _ pregnant!” Random flung a hand in Vialle’s direction, “And I can’t protect  _ any of them! _ ” He kicked a side table over, then paced back and forth like a caged tiger. Suddenly he whirled around and seized Corwin’s shoulders. “Help me, brother! Help me find who did this. Help me kill them.”

“You’ll have vengeance, Random, I promise you.”

Random essentially collapsed in his brother’s arms then and could not be understood in any language yet known.

A harsh sob escaped Vialle, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, shaking. “I’ll lose him to his grief.”

“You won’t lose him, love,” Fiona assured her. “Let him fall apart. We’ll put him back together. We look after our own.”

* * *

I sat on a couch in my parlor, my knees pulled up under my chin. The velvet of the seat felt odd against my bare feet; I’d rarely been bare-footed in my life. I couldn’t ever remember having been in the parlor in just my shift, as I was at that moment; the parlor was a place of façade, of entertaining visitors and keeping up appearances. It felt like a sort of denunciation of my former self to sit there in my chemise with my hair loose, which would have been cathartic if I were not so distressed by other matters.

A knock at the door pulled me sharply from my thoughts. I didn’t feel like getting up to answer, so I just called, “Come in.”

I heard the door open and footsteps crossing into the parlor. “Evelyn, love…” I groaned and tried to escape. Flora darted around the couch and grabbed my wrist. “Hold on!”

“Go  _ away _ , mother! Haven’t I been through enough? Do I really have to be subjected to you right  _ now _ ?”

Flora took my chin and turned my face to her. “Evelyn, as uncharacteristic as it may be, I sincerely care about you. I love you, even, and it pains me incredibly to see you so stricken. Now stop being a holy terror and let me make you tea.”

I sat without another word. I let her drape a blanket over my shoulders and make us some tea and talk about how she knew a nice young vice admiral who was up for promotion.


	16. What Have You Done?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things take a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_aYivBntOC4

 

I realized early on that Blaine could not have killed Martin—or at least could not have done it alone; Martin had been shot, and there was only a handful of functioning guns, only a few barrels-full of combustible gunpowder in Amber, and all of these were meticulously inventoried and locked away. Or they had been. Some of the stock had gone missing, but Blaine had an alibi.

In any case, it was a two-man job at the very least, and I wasn’t sure Blaine was smart enough to execute something as delicate as the assassination of the prince. I knew something was off about him, and had every reason to believe it was nefarious, but I was civil enough not to kill him before knowing more.

We had to wait a few days for Julian to arrive in Amber. He’d been out in the depths of the forest when word had reached him, and he’d seen fit to bring a small army with him so the going had been slow. As if to literalize the coming conflict, Amber grew murky and tense with static electricity trapped by the clouds like fish in a net.

Merlin and I had spent plenty of time together since our return to Amber, but none much of quality. We were both moody, generally quiet, and a bit hostile towards one another. Our disagreements were more quarrel and less bicker. The natural solution was to pass the time fighting.

“You’re wide,” I warned Merlin as I knocked his blade aside.

“Okay, okay, I yield,” Merlin said, tossing his sword on the ground. “I need a breather.”

I took the opportunity to pull off my jacket. It wasn’t overly warm outside, but it was humid, and we’d spent all morning sparring. “What will you do if there’s war?”

He was walking in circles, trying to work out a cramp in his side. “It will depend on what my father does.”

“What if you don’t agree with him?”

“Well I never agree with you and I still love you.”

“Stop being an ass, you know what I mean.”

“What do you want from me?” he asked. “Do you want me to pledge myself to your cause, whatever that ends up being?”

“Don’t I have the right to ask that of you, out of anyone?”

“No, Evelyn, as my cousin you don’t,” he said, exasperated. “I’ve not given you my oath, and you have never asked it of me.”

“If I did, would you?”

Merlin scoffed and retrieved his sword. “Evelyn, you’re not that cheap. Don’t pretend there’s a worthy promise in existence to barter for your hand. I’m not buckling my sword on just yet—figuratively—and you shouldn’t either. And stop trying to goad me into marrying you; words too easily become actions.” He raised in blade in salute and jumped in again.

“Part of me wishes I’d left you in Argent,” I told him. I easily dodged his sword and landed a hit. “You’re wide.”

“What, so now you have to kill me?” said Merlin, clutching his side.

“You’re such a baby--it’s a blunt sword.”

“I think you cracked my ribs.” Merlin threw his free hand up. “I quit. You need something to beat up, go find a target dummy.”

“Fine,” I said. We had been venting our frustrations in our ways, and my way just happened to require violence. A drop of water landed on my nose, followed by more. “Hang on.” I picked up my jacket and went to get Merlin’s from where he’d shrugged it off earlier. As I did, a shout from near the main drive caught our attention.

Julian was galloping up the road, trailed by a full retinue of Rangers, in full regalia. His banner was flying and his colors were out in bold. The man himself was in armor, helmet hanging from his saddle.

“Still think I’m getting ahead of myself?”

“Don’t be a brat, it doesn’t suit you.” Merlin took his coat from me as it started to properly rain.

We made our way back up to the castle, heading for a side-entrance to avoid the clamor and chaos of the soldiers. Once inside, we were almost instantly waylaid by a footman who’d been on his way out to tell us that Julian had arrived and the court was already gathering in the throne room.

We stopped by our rooms to wash off the sweat and dirt. I put on a shirt, breeches, and boots, stuck some fencing gloves in a pocket, and slipped a dirk into my boot. I grabbed my sword from where it leaned against the wall and was buckling it on when I walked out into the corridor.

Merlin, exiting his room at the same time, looked up from the button he was fiddling with on his cuff. He made a noise of surprise and exasperation. “Really, Evelyn?”

“We don’t know how this is going to go.”

“You are _armed_.”

“You might want to be, as well.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to put that out into the universe.”

I was not the only one armed, but neither was Merlin the only one unarmed; Benedict, Caine, and Corwin in addition to Julian were all carrying their swords at the very least, but Fiona, Flora, Gérard, and Llewella were not—visibly, anyway. Random had a sword at his side, but it seemed to be a ceremonial choice. Vialle was noticeably absent. Dworkin, humming to himself and tugging absentmindedly at his beard, stood behind and to the side of the thrones. I glanced about and spotted my cousins; Naddia and Shade, decked out as I was, stood together near the door, muttering to each other quietly.

 _Those two are awfully chummy_ , I thought. _I wonder what they’re scheming_.

The doors opened and Blaine and Ronin entered, trailed by a very small escort of guards. They went before Random and stood silently, and the room fell quiet.

Random was very composed and restrained; he’d finally gotten a handle on his grief, but as far as I knew, Benedict was still running the kingdom while Random tried to collect himself out of the public eye.

“I know that neither of you are responsible for my son’s death,” he began. “Over the last three days, we have learned that the—the murder was committed with artillery stolen from our vaults.” Random took a deep, shaky breath. “There is no evidence tying either Blaine or Ronin to the crime, and they will not be regarded with suspicion henceforth. What we must discuss now—”

A pain struck the base of my skull. I heard Shade and Naddia shout. Having learned from experience, I reached out to grab the hands of the two people nearest me—Merlin on my right, Flora on my left. Before I could really attempt to suppress the thing, there was a great roaring sound, like a monstrous wave or a ripping wind, and a red rift split open in the air before the throne. From that crack in reality, my uncle Brand stepped forth, his form misty as though still smoking with Hellfire.

He grinned his crooked knife-slice grin and looked to Blaine. “Thank you for all your help, my boy.” Brand faded away, transforming into what looked like a swarm of fireflies, which suddenly flew at Random and into the Jewel of Judgment. Dworkin stumbled backward, struck the wall, and fell to the floor; Random shook as though suffering a seizure, then shot to his feet, laughed wickedly, and leapt into the void.

The rift snapped shut like a jaw and vanished.

Before anyone could speak or move, I had set the point of my blade in the hollow of Blaine’s collarbone.

“Evelyn!” Flora screeched.

“What did you do?” I demanded.

“Stand down!” shouted Benedict.

Dworkin wobbled to his feet. “What’s happening?”

“What did you do?”

“Evelyn, drop your sword!” Caine barked.

I saw Dworkin over Blaine’s shoulder feeling his face and beard. “I’m Dworkin!”

“What did you do?!”

Blaine stood very still, and tried to speak without moving his jaw. “Nothing.”

“ _I will kill you where you stand_ , you traitor. _What did you do?_ ”

“For fuck’s sake, Evelyn—” Julian stepped between us, brushing my sword aside with a gauntleted hand and dragging Blaine along with the other. He pulled him over to the drink cart and began portioning out liquor. Naddia followed and was enlisted in delivering drinks to the members of the congregation.

I stared in disbelief. “What is wrong with you people?” I breathed. I looked at Dworkin, who was comparing his height to the throne and muttering to himself.

“Never realized how short he was.”

“And what’s wrong with _you?_ ” I asked.

“I’m Deidre.”

Corwin made a strangled, horrified sound, but Merlin’s face erupted in wicked glee.

Fiona appeared at Dworkin’s—Deidre’s—Dei-workin’s?—side, entirely resigned to her fate of cleaning up after her family’s supernatural screw-ups for the rest of her brilliant life. “Come on, we’ll get you sorted.”

Corwin followed them, and Merlin followed him, snickering uncontrollably. Corwin cuffed him on the back of the head and kept walking.

Benedict was directing guards and siblings alike, initiating immediate damage control. He turned to Caine and said, “Search the castle. If Brand’s here, find him. If he used a passage, find it. If he’s set a trap, find it.”

“May I come?” I interjected. “Uncle, please, I need to be of use.”

Caine nodded at Benedict, who in turn granted me his approval. Caine had always had a soft spot for me, incredibly. It was a very useful asset.

Naddia stepped into our circle, holding a drink out for whoever would take it; none of us did. “May I come too, Uncle?” she asked Caine.

“No,” he said shortly, and he followed Benedict to speak to Julian and a cluster of his Rangers.

“Hey,” said Shade softly, waving at us to get our attention. She beckoned us over to where she stood with Ronin.

I shot a quick glance at Naddia and went to see what Shade had to say; she followed.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I say we go find Brand and end this,” said Shade.

Naddia, Ronin, and I exchanged dubious looks. It was Naddia who asked, “How?”

“What do you mean ‘how?’”

“ _How_ do you plan to accomplish this?”

Shade shrugged. “The fuck should I know?” We three people of sanity groaned. “Hey! I don’t come up with the plans, that’s not my thing. I’m the _verb_ , you guys are the nouns and the adjectives and—what’s the other thing?”

“Adverbs?” offered Ronin.

“No, the other thing.”

“Prepositions?”

“Yes! That! Prepositions.”

“No,” I said firmly. “No, we’re not doing that.”

“Who put you in charge?” she sneered.

“What makes you think you are more competent, more knowledgeable, than any of them?” I asked, gesturing to our aunts, uncles, and parents in the room. “They’ve faced Brand before and they know him better than any of us do. They know more about the Pattern and Shadow and Trumps than any of us do.”

“I don’t _do_ waiting. I don’t _do_ patience.”

“And I don’t do reckless and stupid!” I snapped. “Why did we ever listen to you? You have no idea what you’re doing. You have no strategy, no thought of consequence. If you hadn’t made a Shadow specifically for yourself, you’d never have led a soul.”

Caine called to me and beckoned me over. I nodded to him then turned to my cousins for my closing argument: “If you want to run off on your own, with no plan and no backup, then more power to you—and if you two want to follow her, then go on and I wish you all the best, but you’re fucking insane. I’m going to stay here, get information, tap resources, and _make a plan_. Whoever’s with me is with me, and to Hell with the rest of you.” I followed Caine out of the hall without another word.


	17. Truckin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is no rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pafY6sZt0FE

It was entirely possible that Caine had killed Martin. I had no doubt that he was capable of pulling the trigger. He’d seen Martin as a liability, a possible link to Brand, and it was no stretch to think he would simply decide to neutral the threat.

He’d always been strangely fond of me. When I was very young, he’d carved wooden figurines for me to play with. He’d seen me take my first steps. He’d even smiled at me once. And he may have killed my cousin.

I didn’t voice my suspicions of him, of course; I simply followed him as he made his way through the castle, inspecting the hidden paths and securing their doors. Some of these were only “secret” and others that were actually unknown. There were a few even that Caine would not show me, but rather made me wait in a doorway somewhere while he went to look.

“Do you really think he’s still here?” I asked as we passed back through areas we’d already searched. “That would be so reckless.”

“He thinks he’s smarter than all of us put together, so he could think to outwit us by staying right under our noses.” We came to an intersection of corridors and paused. Caine turned and nodded in a direction. “The royal apartments. If he’s hiding out anywhere in Amber, it’d be there.”

“Then why didn’t we check there first?”

“Because that’s exactly what we would have done.”

There were no guards posted. I expected Benedict was scrambling every available man at Amber’s disposal. It gave the wing an eerie, abandoned feel.

Caine led the way into the king’s parlor. I hesitated in the doorway; the last time I’d been in this room, it had been to mourn with my family. It was suspiciously tidy in here, but the absence of certain breakable décor betrayed Random’s presence of late.

“Clear,” said Caine, before I’d even made it fully into the room.

We went into the bedchamber. I had only been there once or twice when Eric was king, delivering messages or alerting him to some emergency at an ungodly hour—crises that, now that I looked back on them, were insignificant in the extreme, but I wouldn’t trade a single memory with Eric, even for my dignity.

Caine barely glanced around the place before he said “Clear,” and headed for the door. He looked back at me. “I should report back to Benedict.”

“I’ll stay here, take a closer look,” I offered. He nodded curtly and left.

These quarters seemed cavernous compared to my own. I’d never noticed how very high the ceilings were, or how the paneled floors and the sparsely-hung walls made the click of my heels echo, made my very breath sound breezy and large.

I searched the walls for hidden doors, the floors for loose boards, every nook and corner and yet I found nothing. I wish I knew Caine’s trick for finding secret ways. I knelt down in the cold hearth to prod the stones. One was loose, and came away with a slight tug to reveal a secret cubby, but it was empty.

I combed through the wardrobes and trunks, checked under the bed and in drawers. Nothing of consequence.

I moved on to the study and investigated it in the same fashion. In the desk, I found a stack of decree that had been drafted by Random’s hand, proclaiming all manner of ridiculous things.

_Good to see the throne matured you, Random._

Underneath this, there was a packet of yellowing, age-worn parchment. I picked this up carefully and gently looked through it. The hasty scrawl I recognized as Dworkin’s, and the notes, though only an excerpt, were on the subject the Jewel of Judgment.

I took these with me. Random would not miss them. Encouraged a bit by this find, I went through the side-door into the adjacent room.

There were no wall hangings or rugs, no decoration of any kind. Just drop cloths haphazardly spread here and there on the floor, one or two hanging to subdivide the room, and statues. Birds and beasts and flowers, pots and vases, busts and full-bodies and miniatures.

_Vialle’s studio._

I knew she was a sculptor, of course; I’d seen some of her creations displayed in the parlors and gardens, but there was something sacrosanct about these, the pieces she’d yet to unveil. I felt a sense of intrusion here that I hadn’t in either the study or the bedroom.

Near the windows, which took up almost the entire wall, there sat a simple wooden stool and a stone table. On the table, there was an unknown object shrouded in cloth.

_I shouldn’t be here._ I didn’t leave, though. I moved closer to what was clearly a work in progress, feeling the eyes of every clay rendering of Fiona, Corwin, Random, Flora, and all the rest on me. _Curiosity will be the death of me._

The cloth slid away like silk, and an incomplete Martin stared back at me. I could not help but marvel at the skill of Vialle. If not for missing half his skull, the bust could be mistaken for the model. With sudden pain, I realized that this half-formed clay likeness probably resembled its subject’s corpse uncannily. My hand reached out of its own accord to touch the face. The clay was drying out, abandoned by the fled queen. Soon it too would crack and crumble.

_Well, that’s what I get._

I backed away until I reached the door, brushing the clay dust on my skirt. I slipped the stolen papers in my pocket and made my humble exit.

With no Caine left to shadow, I decided to head back to the great hall and see what else was being done about the defense of the castle.

It might seem strange, but one of the only people I _didn’t_ suspect of killing Martin was Brand. He had always been so fond of Martin, and had only grown more so over the years. Brand was not generally described as “tender,” but he’d always been attentive and kind to Martin… But had his madness driven him to kill even the people he truly loved?

Lost in my musings, I didn’t hear the door on my right open as I passed it. I was seized by the arm and yanked into the room. The door slammed shut, a hand clapped over my mouth, and then a green light flared into existence, throwing the place into visibility.

I shoved off my abductor—Blaine—and demanded, “Why couldn’t you just send for me?!”

Shade, playing with the small sphere of light she held, said, “Couldn’t risk getting found out.”

“Is that also why we’re in a closet?” I asked. I was bumping shoulders with Blaine and Ronin. Naddia was wedged into a corner; willowy thing that she was, she could compact herself to protect her personal space even in this cramped cupboard.

_Skinny bitch._

“Show of hands, who’s still in the closet?” Shade asked of the group.

“God, Shade, grow up,” Naddia said at the same time I said “You’re ridiculous,” and Ronin asked “What does that mean?”

I glanced at the silent Blaine and did a double-take. He lowered his hand.

Blaine cleared his throat. “As _I_ was saying—Random has taught me how to use the Jewel of Judgement.”

“You?” I was incredulous. “Why on earth would he pick you?”

“I brought the idea to him, actually,” said Blaine. “He thought it was sound. I have not been subject to the attacks that have plagued you, I have the necessary skillset to use the Jewel, and I have no desire to sit on the throne. And Merlin wasn’t here.” In the throne room, he said, he’d attempted to tap into that power to help fight off Brand’s Trump contact.

“That must be what he meant,” said Ronin, “when he thanked you for your help. That must have been his in. So I guess it was kind of your fault after all.”

“I’m aware,” Blaine replied.

“All right, so the king is a meat suit, Dworkin is out of the office, Brand has the Jewel, and no one knows how to stop him,” said Shade. “Did I leave anything out?”

“We’re all gonna die?” Naddia suggested.

“Oh yes, that.”

Naddia pinched the bridge of her nose and dropped down to sit on an upturned bucket. “So what do we do now?”

“Brand has a body now,” said Shade, “which means he has much more mobility than before. So we have to kill him again.”

Naddia scoffed. “And how the fuck do we do that?”

“The first issue is the Jewel,” said Blaine. “We need to—”

Naddia shook her head. “But have you even thought about—”

“Bad idea,” said Shade, “bad idea, bad idea, my idea is good, your ideas are bad, bad idea—”

“SHUT UP!” Ronin bellowed, and at the same moment a sort of static discharge rippled through the space, causing us all to jump. He took a few deep breaths and composed himself. “It might be useful to know where he is first.”

“I wonder if his Trump would work,” mused Naddia. “Would that psychic connection be repaired, do you think? Since he’s got a physical form again?”

“I’d guess not,” said Shade. “Not as though he looks quite the same now, and I doubt he’s had time to sit for a new one yet.”

“Perhaps one of you could reach him,” Blaine suggested, “seeing as he’s been connecting with you, not me.”

“I wonder why that is…” Shade let the ball of light hang in the air and pulled out her Trump deck to shuffle through. “Blaine, I don’t think I even have one of you in here yet. Do you have any?”

“Not on me,” he said. “I did sit for one, though, I just got the prints earlier this week. I will—”

“Hang on—” I interrupted. I had a sudden thought. “Hold up. You didn’t have a Trump until this week?”

“Yes,” Blaine said, matter-of-factly. “I only just took my Patternwalk, Evelyn. I'd never met Dworkin. Of course I didn’t have a Trump.”

“Shade,” I looked to her, “who did yours? Dworkin or Suhuy?”

“Neither,” said Shade. “It was—Brand.”

“And Naddia?”

Naddia looked as though she was remembering something harrowing. “He did.”

“And Martin’s,” I said. “And mine.” It had been a birthday gift.

How could I not have realized it sooner? Something as intimate and complex as our tarot images, the artist could manipulate and warp the process a thousand different ways without anyone ever noticing in the finished product. No one else knew enough about that cards to spot the skill of a master saboteur.

 “Who painted Merlin’s?” asked Shade.  

“It was a self-portrait.”

“Oh, fuck me.” Shade shoved her cards back into her pocket. “Are you fucking kidding me? Are you shitting me right now?”

“Shade,” Naddia said.

“Is this my fucking life right now?”

“Shade.”

“How about I just go and take the Jewel back from him?” said Blaine.

I scoffed. “Brilliant! Just walk up and snatch it off him!”

“If I get close enough and someone can distract him I can influence the Jewel in our favor and snatch it.” Blaine looked to Shade and Naddia, who were practically hissing at one another. “Ladies?”

Shade made a shushing motion at Naddia and they rejoined the conversation. As little as I liked Naddia, I was starting to dislike Shade enough to want to defend her.

“We’ll distract him with Trump contacts,” said Shade. She looked at Naddia. “Unless you’re opposed even to that.”

“I’m not sure you can really take him,” Ronin commented to Blaine, who, while toned, was only slightly taller than me; he was dwarfed by most of our family. Ronin was right; when the moment came to physically take back the Jewel, Blaine wouldn’t be able to do it by force.

“Then you’ll be the muscle,” Shade told Ronin.

“We’ll need Merlin as well,” I said. “He’s certainly as physically strong as Brand—or, Random, rather—and he’s a more powerful sorcerer than any of you.”

“How are we going to _find_ him?” Naddia asked—with an unreasonable degree of sass, I might add.

“Evelyn’s spyglass,” said Blaine.

“It doesn’t work that well in Amber. I can barely see Kashfa from here. To look for Brand I’d need to be out in Shadow.”

“So we need a secure Shadow as a vantage point,” Shade stated simply.

Naddia interrupted; “Excuse me, but even if Evelyn can find my—him, how exactly are you going to _get_ there?”

“The Pattern?” I suggested. This course of action was gaining too many moving parts for my taste, but we didn’t have time for a debate. “Walk the Pattern, use it to transport to wherever he is.”

“And the two of us will go with you,” Shade said to Blaine, “and we can draw on the Pattern for extra oomph. We’ll use Trumps to stay in contact—and to bring Ronin through to be the tank.”

“That still leaves the question of a safe Shadow,” said Blaine.

I rubbed my temples. Could I keep no secrets? Would every last scrap of my private life be rent apart by this ridiculous turmoil?

“I have a Shadow. It’s secure.”

Shade looked surprised, then a bit skeptical. “How can you be sure?”

“I’m sure. Blaine, get me a copy of your Trump.” I looked at Ronin. “Meet me at the stables in ten minutes.”

Shade clapped her hands once. “And break!”

We dispersed; I followed Blaine to his room and he gave me a Trump, then he set off at a jog to meet Naddia and Shade at the Pattern. I went into my own room to retrieve my spyglass. I didn’t need anything else, I’d be back before we were ever missed.

Before I went to the stables, I stopped to get Merlin. He answered the door almost immediately when I knocked. Our disagreements as of late seemed to be having a continuing effect on whether or not he was happy to see me, judging by his expression.

“Yes, Evelyn?”

“Do you want to go pick a fight?”

“Let me grab a shirt.”

* * *

The boys saddled up, I greased the chain on my bike, and we set out.

I had not been to Lloegyr in some time. When I had taken my Patternwalk, I sought it out as a secret refuge, a convenient and picturesque spot for a holiday. I never spent more than a fortnight there at a time, which translated to just a few hours in Amber. Every once in a great while I’d take a lover there for a romantic getaway. It was a good spot to get someone out of my system, so that by the time we returned to the real world the passion had burned out. I enjoy lovers but not suitors.

The last time I’d been there, Eric had just died. I didn’t know where else to go, so I took refuge there, but it was too quiet, too serene. Too clean, too healthy. I needed somewhere with clamour and soot and smog, somewhere with strife and war. Any Shadow with a North America would do, really.

I did have a Trump that would have made the journey a bit shorter, but there was no way to know if Brand’s hold on my psyche bled into all my Trump use.

We took a few shortcuts through Shadow; it took a toll on the horses but was worth it for the sake of speed. Before long the forest suddenly crashed into the side of a precipitous cliff. We followed along the slope until we came to the wide open maw of the mountain, a fissure in the rock that led to a tunnel.

“Leave the horses. They’ll just be a nuisance.” They dismounted and turned the horses loose. I parked my bike next to the cave entrance. A few steps inside and I came across two torches, unused.

“Have you got a light?” I asked, holding one out to Merlin. I got a small smile for my efforts, and he muttered a spell to cause the tips of the torches to spark and catch. “This way.”

I led and they followed, down the straight passage. There were no forks or side-paths, so there was no way to get lost.

Eventually, the tunnel grew more cavernous. The ghost of light appeared up ahead. We came to the only turn in the road, a sharp cut to the right and a narrowing of the way.

We came out into another grotto, this one a mossy cove with vines and ivy hanging like a screen in the entryway. I picked my way over the raised rock along the water, one hand pressed to the wall to steady myself in case I should slip.

No sooner had we pushed through the green curtain than a low growl rumbled in the brush. A howl rung in the forest and a pack of enormous wolves, larger even than Garm and much fiercer, exploded from the trees and undergrowth and descended on us.

“Fuck!” Merlin reached for the sword that he had almost decided against bringing, but I grabbed his wrist to stop him. “What are you doing?!”

I held up a placating hand to the wolves. “I am Evelyn. Stand down.”

The alpha approached me slowly and sniffed the hand that I offered, then went docile as a puppy. She turned and padded back off into the trees, followed by her pack. They seemed to vanish into the foliage.

“I told you it was secure.”

“Bloody hell, Ev. Did you have to go all _Beowulf_ on us?”

“Oh, shut up.” I pointed across the vast lake we stood before. “Over there. That’s my place. There should be a boat around here somewhere—there. Come on.”

“Whatever you say, Snorri.”

There was a simple canoe moored at the edge of the lake. There were only two paddles, which Merlin and Ronin took up, so I didn’t have to help with this particular leg of the journey. I was glad; leading the party through Shadow, and especially finding those shortcuts had taken quite a lot of energy and my endurance was simply not up to snuff. I still had a fairly worrying amount of work yet to do as well.

But oh, how lovely it would be to rest a while… At the cabin, I had my choice of beds, sofas, even a hammock. There was a woodcutter who lived not far into the forest, and his family looked after the place for me, so it should be ready for habitation. I could use a holiday, I hadn’t had a proper rest in so long…

I scooped some water up and splashed my face.

_Stay awake._ _Stay awake._ _This isn’t over._


	18. In My Time of Dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a cliffhanger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vap7hT1jTGc

There was a girl I didn’t recognize stacking firewood on the back porch.

“ _This_ is a cabin?” Merlin asked, gazing up the slope of the shore as he and Ronin pulled the boat up into the grass. “It’s three stories tall. There’s a balcony.”

“Yeah, but it’s made of wood.”

“That doesn’t make it… Fine.”

Ronin was at the stern, pushing, as Merlin was at the bow, pulling with a rope. Once they got it past the rough sand of the shore and onto the grass it slid smoothly, quickly. Ronin waded out of the water and offered me his hand to help me out of the boat. Surprisingly genteel of him. Merlin turned to assist me, saw Ronin already at it, and raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

 _Serves you right, with your cold shoulder_ , I thought to myself. _And your up-and-leaving. Let the status quo quiver a bit._

The grass on the hill was a bit slick; it had rained recently.

“What do you call this place?” asked Ronin.

“The world, the lake, the forest, or the cabin?”

“…Yes?”

I smiled. “The Shadow is Lloegyr, the lake is the Mirror-Water, the forest is Màthar, and the cabin doesn’t have a name, actually. It’s The Cabin.”

“Not a cabin,” Merlin muttered behind us.

The girl turned when we came within earshot of her, going pale as a sheet. “Who—?”

I smiled warmly at her, trying to put her at ease. “Hello.”

Realization dawned on her and she dropped to her knees. “The Lady!”

“Oh, please don’t do that.” I noticed a silver broach on her cloak. “What’s this? A bit fancy for a woodcutter’s daughter,” I remarked, pointing to it and leaning down for a closer look.

“My great-grandfather was a woodcutter, but now we take care of your holy house,” said the girl. “This is your sign, of course. It’s a symbol of our sacred duty. The people bring us gifts—to honor you.”

A vixen holding a sprig of ivy. My personal sigil. ‘Sacred.’ Wonderful.

Merlin chuckled. I reached back without looking and smacked his arm. “Listen, what year is it?”

“I don’t rightly know, but my grandfather has told me stories of you,” said the girl. “His father told him stories.”

I tried to laugh it off. “Yes, it’s been quite a while, hasn’t it?”

The thing about playing around in Shadow is that you can’t control the people. You can influence them, manipulate, even, but you can’t control them. They talk to each other. They exist beyond your field of vision, every day, and live lives in a world that you might or might not have created but the various machinations of which you couldn’t possibly know all about, regardless. When you leave, they continue unsupervised. They put you on pedestals or wanted lists depending on the atmosphere surrounding your departure. You come back years later, as unchanged as a dragonfly suspended in amber, and they cry divinity or witchcraft. It’s out of your hands.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” I asked the girl.

“Effie.” She had curly hair escaping from her braids and freckles scattered across her round features, and she looked somewhat terrified. She couldn’t be older than nine or ten.

“It is so nice to meet you, Effie. Thank you for the firewood. You can go home now.” The girl was still rooted to the spot. Children need so much coddling. I touched one of her braids. “Your hair is so pretty—did your mother braid it for you?”

“My father.”

Merlin snorted in laughter. Fine, I deserved that one.

“How nice. Go home and tell him it’s very pretty.” I put a hand on her shoulder and steered her in the direction of going away.

This familiarity seemed to excite her rather than soothe her. “I will!” she declared, and she started to run. “I’ll tell them I saw you! The Lady of the Lake, I saw her and she thinks my hair is pretty!”

I groaned. Merlin laughed, saying “You can’t expect to show up once every five decades looking like you do and still fly under the radar. They’ve _deified_ you, Ev! The Lady of the Lake—!” He shook his head, overcome. “This is amazing.”

Eric had cautioned me against situations like this as I’d prepared for my Patternwalk; ‘ _It will make your Shadow either a Heaven or a Hell to you. You’ll love it entirely or hate it absolutely, but either way never forget, we are none of us gods._ ’

Inside, I gestured to a door off to the left. “There’s the washroom, if anyone needs it. Ronin, there’s another upstairs with towels and such, if you’d like to dry off. They should be in the cupboard by the bathtub. End of the hall to the left. There might even be some fresh slacks somewhere around here, I’ll have to check.” Ronin went away to clean the lake off himself. I crossed the sunroom and into the kitchen, Merlin following. “Are you hungry? There’s bread here. Smells fresh.” I took a small loaf from the basket on the island and ripped it in half to split with him. It was still warm.

“I doubt any of your conquests left pants here big enough to fit him,” Merlin teased, taking a bite of bread. He quirked an eyebrow. “Unless there’s someone you haven’t told me about.”

“There are plenty I haven’t told you about.” The men in that Shadow I’d been hiding in since Patternfall, for instance. But they didn’t really count, I thought—they’d been bedding Katja and Marie, not Evelyn. Even excepting those, that still left a few secrets between Merlin and me, regardless. “Beloved cousin, confidante: I don’t think we’re _there_ yet.”

He chuckled. I found some cups and a pitcher of water. I, for one, needed to hydrate; then I’d find some pants for Ronin.

“Do you need anything else?” I asked Merlin as I went up the stairs.

“No, I found cheese. I’m fine.”

I did find some slacks in one of the bedrooms, after a bit of digging around. I also found a shawl I’d thought I’d lost, which was an unexpected bonus. I left the pants outside the bathroom door for Ronin and told him through the door that they were there.

I went back downstairs, where I found Merlin raiding the pantry. His father’s son.

“Leave something for Ronin,” I told him. “He needs his strength more than either of us for this.”

“You’ll be the one holding a Trump link for an indefinite period,” said Merlin. “Sure you’re up for it? You look exhausted.”

“A little late to wonder now.” I reached across the countertop to take some fruit from in front of him before he could eat it all himself. “I’ll be fine. I’m just going to sleep for a week when this is all done. Better yet, I’m going to come back here, tell my devotees to leave me the fuck alone for the next half a century, and I’ll see you in Amber next Tuesday.”

Merlin scoffed. “I’m not going to be in Amber next Tuesday. I’m sick to death of the place, I’ve been there so long and so much lately. I need to get away for a while.”

I pulled my newly rediscovered wrap over my shoulders and set my elbows on the countertop. “Where will you go?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I’d like to go to a university somewhere, learn something new. Meet some people. Maybe spend some time in the Shadow my dad loved so much. Look up his friends, get a girlfriend, pick up a hobby…” He shrugged again. “I don’t know. Have to wait until this mess is done, regardless.”

I nodded. I didn’t like the thought of parting ways, but he deserved a vacation from Amber—and his parents. Especially now that Deidre was back in the picture (sort of); Corwin was annoyingly happy with Dara, anyone could see, but his love for the mother of his child was a newer development than his well-documented affection for his dear little sister. It wasn’t like he was the only brother to lust after a sister, or vice versa. Oberon’s word was the only thing stopping any of them from declaring it outright. “Tea?”

“Please.”

Ronin came down the stairs, dry and dressed. “The others should be in position by now, shouldn’t they?”

Merlin smiled. “Rain check. Next Tuesday?”

“It’s always ‘Next Tuesday’ with you, isn’t it?” I tossed an apple to Ronin and shuffled through my Trumps until I came to Blaine’s. I focused on the image on the card, picturing it three-dimensional and breathing. It became so, and then it was as if he was standing across from me, right where Merlin had been in my vision a moment ago.

“Evelyn, are you ready?” Blaine asked. “We’re all in place here.”

“So are we.” I set the card down, concentrating hard on keeping the connection strong, and took my spyglass from my pocket. I scanned the nearby Shadows, gradually adjusting to look further and further, until— “I’ve got him. Can you see him?” I tried to blend the images together, passing the vision to Blaine, who had a hand each on Naddia’s and Shade’s shoulders. They were sitting cross-legged at his feet, ready with their Trumps of Brand.

I held a hand out to Ronin, and Merlin touched my shoulder. The physical contact brought them into the Trump contact.

“What’s your status?” Merlin asked them.

“We see him,” said Naddia. “We’re ready.”

“All right.” I took a deep breath. _This is it_. “Go get him.”

I could see Brand, still clad in Random’s skin, suddenly become alert. I wished I could hear him, but the spyglass only shows, never tells.

Naddia and Shade seemed to be waging a silent war against him, focusing all their mental power on distracting him, holding him there. Blaine straightened up and suddenly vanished, and my Trump contact with him jolted, feeling like a static shock. The new scene before me was Blaine in the nondescript setting of Brand’s—Brandom’s?—current lair.

Blaine held out a hand to summon the cavalry. I pulled at Ronin. “Go. Go, now!” I pushed him through the portal to Blaine. “I swear, Merlin, if you don’t come back—”

“I _promise_.” He kissed me on the cheek and passed through the psychic bond to join Blaine and Ronin. Now I had to be the lifeline. I could do nothing but watch.

Brand stood stiff, struggling like mad against some invisible restraints. He was shouting obscenities at Blaine—and some seemed directed at Naddia, off in Amber.

“ _Disappointed_ , so _disappointed_ ,” he snarled. “You could have been _so much more_ than what you are, than what they made you… I didn’t discipline you enough! I was too lenient! Or more likely I didn’t have much to work with! What a _letdown_ you are. And you—” His gaze focused on Blaine. “Your powers are pathetic, you think you can hold me for long? I will rend your limbs from your body, I—”

“You’ve filled your quota for blood spilt, Uncle,” said Merlin, brandishing his sword. He and Ronin circled the trapped man slowly, testing the strength of the magnetic barrier around Brand that I could feel where I stood. Merlin’s face was like stone, so unlike the animated spirit I knew him to be. “Martin is dead because of you.” Some emotion flashed across Brand’s face, but was gone before I could tell what it was.

“All who are worthy will be remade, in the new kingdom, in the light of a more perfect Pattern—Martin will live again, and you can see him if you but follow me!” Brand insisted. His bonds seemed to be giving somewhat; his limited movement was expanding. “What have your elders offered you? Half-truths and tyranny! In my order, _you_ will be the elders! _You_ will lead the armies, _you_ will write the histories! You, my daughter, will be the mistress of all sorceresses!” He paused to hear her distant answer, and then suddenly broke free of his restraints, bellowed “To Hell with all of you!” and leapt at Blaine. At the same moment, his defensive magnetic shield dissipated.

Merlin lunged; he landed a purposefully minor hit on his forearm. Brand hissed like an animal and turned on him, giving Ronin the chance to come up behind him and seized him in a headlock. Blaine darted forward and snatched the Jewel from around his neck.

“Evelyn, I have it!” he shouted. I grabbed hold of Merlin and dragged him back through.

“Ronin, let him go,” I said, extending my hand. He released Brand and took it, and I pulled him to me. Finally, I grabbed Blaine, severing the psychic connection and leaving Brand behind, screaming in fury.

Blaine stumbled into my kitchen, fell against the cupboards and slid to the floor, panting heavily. He held up the Jewel triumphantly.

I dropped down onto the floor next to him and leaned back against the wood. My pulse was racing wildly, my lungs shuddering in vain. I didn’t have the strength to get my breathing under control. There is a reason why Amberites eat and sleep anytime we’re given the chance. A single bout of activity can drain you entirely.

Ronin reached down and pulled Blaine to his feet.

“All right there, soldier?” Merlin asked me softly, crouching. “God, you look awful.”

“I’m _fine_ , you prat.”

“Then on your feet.” He slipped an arm around me and lifted me up. “You don’t look so good either,” he said to Blaine.

“The Jewel sometimes takes more than it gives.” Blaine picked up the pitcher of water and drained it. “Hold on, that’ll be the other two—Hello. …Yes, bring us through.” He held out his hands; Ronin took one and Merlin, still supporting me, took the other. The cabin around us faded into Shade’s room, the scent of the trees and the lake and the warm smell of the bread dwindled into the close air of a room in the castle.

Merlin set me in a chair and Blaine flopped down in the one next to me. Shade and Naddia looked a bit pale as well. The conflict had taken quite a bit out of all of us, it seemed.

“Okay.” I tried to stand. I gave up. “All right. We need to tell the elders we have the Jewel. Benedict for sure, and Fiona. Corwin, too, probably. He knows more about the Jewel than the others.”

Blaine and Shade were shuffling through their trump decks. Naddia dropped down on Shade’s bed, saying “I’m not doing it.”

Shade held up her mother’s card. “I’ve got Fiona.”

“Benedict,” said Blaine.

Blaine was successful, Shade was not. When he disconnected, Blaine said “Benedict is gathering everyone in the Yellow Room in fifteen minutes.”

“See you all down there, then.” Merlin helped me out of my chair and let me lean on him as we went to the door. As we passed Ronin, Merlin thumped him on the shoulder and said “Nicely done, by the way. You’re a beast.”

“Keep it in your pants, man,” I muttered under my breath.

Merlin got me to my room and then I shook him off and sent him to his own quarters to freshen up, saying “I can handle myself, thanks. Go away.”

As I shut the door behind me, he said he’d go call his father and change and be right back for me. I leaned against the door. I felt like I’d fall down right there and die and it would be the best part of my day.

 _I’m not dead yet_ , I reminded myself. _Not quite yet._

With only a few minutes to myself, all I could do was wash my hands and face and brush out my hair. Some interesting bits of Shadow had been snared in its net: leaves, small twigs, a forget-me-not—a live spider.

 _I hate Shadow-walking_ , I thought as I picked through my mane, _I hate Shadow-walking, I hate Shadow-walking_.

I grabbed a biscuit from the glass jar on my parlor table and consumed it in a most unladylike fashion. The heel of my left hose had worn thin and I could feel the beginning of a blister forming. What I wouldn’t give to just take off my boots and crawl into bed…

There was a knock at the door. I stuck another biscuit in my mouth and grabbed a ribbon off my vanity as I crossed the room, plaiting my hair.

Merlin had swapped his shirt for a clean one and dragged a comb through his hair, then he’d come to wait for me. As we started down the hallway, Naddia came out of her room and followed a few steps behind. She looked as exhausted as I felt, and somewhat…I found myself feeling slightly sorry for her. She had thought Brand loved her as a father should, I could tell. His harsh words, her complete renunciation of him…it must have been painful.

“I wonder what Benedict’s going to do,” I mused aloud. “Where could Fiona possibly be? Did your father answer you? We’re not late, are we? Do you know—”

“Hush, woman, for the love of—this is almost over, just calm down. This time tomorrow, you’ll be at your cabin and I’ll be filling out college applications.”

“What will you study?”

“Computers, maybe.”

I frowned. “The women at NASA?”

He chuckled. “You haven’t been in the right Shadows, I see.” He opened the door to the door to the Yellow Room and waited for Naddia and me to go in before following.

The elder Amberites were already gathered, along with the rest of my cousins. For a moment, I looked for Martin’s face in the crowd. It was a reflex. A glance at Merlin told me he’d done the same. First a world without Eric, now without Martin. I wondered how many more times my life could be shaken to its foundation.

 _The next time better involve handsome men_ , I thought bitterly.

Corwin and Benedict were discussing tactics, but no one was paying very close attention because the gist of the entire conversation was that neither of them knew what to do next. My confidence in authority was swelling exponentially.

“Hold on,” Benedict interrupted Corwin. “I’m getting a call. Fiona?” He reached forward and helped her through; she wasn’t alone.

Deidre was close behind. She looked relieved. Fiona explained that she’d managed to find a Shadow of Deidre close enough in physiology and mental strength to survive the experiment, then she had drawn the essence of our deceased aunt from our great-grandfather and transferred it to the new body. Dworkin had promptly scampered off, leaving us to our own devices.

Everyone seemed elated to see their dearest sister returned to them, but Corwin ran to Deirdre and embraced her, nearly lifting her off the ground in his enthusiasm. Merlin didn’t look as disturbed by this as I’d expect; he caught my eye and shrugged, muttering “Mom’s might actually roll with it.”

“What have I missed?” Fiona asked. Benedict filled her in briefly, and she thought for a moment.

Deidre detached herself from Corwin and turned to us younger Amberites. “Thank you,” she said, beaming. “For all your help.”

“None of it will mean anything if we can’t stop Brand,” Naddia pointed out. I noticed for the first time that she was armed to the teeth.

“We have to kill him,” I declared. I hadn’t meant to sound so compassionate, but I was just so tired of this and wanted very dearly for it to be over already. On that point, I was sure, we were of a single mind. “We need to pull him from Random the way Fiona did Deidre, and kill him outright. Here. No abyss to take refuge in. We need to end it.”

“Well,” Fiona began, and I knew our elders were about to know better again, “it might be more feasible to simply remove him from Random, leave him powerless and formless again. We simply don’t have the resources to kill him right now. We don’t have the knowledge.”

“How do we go about that?” asked Benedict.

Fiona walked us through her plan, which involved severing Brand’s connection to the Jewel, causing a sort of snapping of a metaphysical rubber band and slingshotting Brand back into nothingness and, ideally, draining him of power. It would require attunement to the Jewel, however.

“And you’re sure of this,” Corwin clarified.

Fiona nodded and shrugged at the same time. “My calculations are extrapolated from reliable data and quantifiable results of analyzed events in the past.”

“So… All right, fine, good enough.” Corwin turned to Blaine, who still held the Jewel. “I’ll take that now. Thank you for retrieving it.”

“You can’t. It has to be me,” said Blaine. “Deidre said it had to be a member of the third generation.” He gestured to those of us the description applied to. I realized that we were all standing together, apart from the elders, as a group. Whether or not we liked it, we were in this together. “I can do it. I already know how to use the Jewel.”

“Not well enough to do it on your own,” the aforementioned aunt clarified. “But yes, we can’t help. Not with this part, anyway.” She turned to her siblings. “Sorcerers or no, we all share a common magic. It’s in our bones—and it’s in theirs, too. We have the Pattern in us, by right of blood. But it evolves; we pass it on to our children, and the Pattern grows in them in a new way, as it will in their children. Brand can counter us completely, he knows our magic, he beats our magic. He doesn’t know theirs, not fully. How could he? They barely know it themselves.”

A quiet voice spoke up. “Show me how.” Naddia looked to Blaine. “Attune me to the Jewel. Now.”

Fiona put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s your father… You don’t have to bear this burden.”

Naddia pushed Fiona’s hand away. “I do. I have more raw strength in magic than you, Blaine, and you know it. I’m more practiced, you need me,” she insisted.

Shade swore softly, rubbing her eyes, then raised her hand in volunteer. “Fine, I’ll chip in too. We need all hands on deck.”

It was agreed that the three of them would serve as our best bet for combatting Brand, as would Fiona’s catapult plan. Corwin drew them aside to help Blaine both comprehend and communicate the mechanics of the Jewel. Once the girls were confident in their understanding, all three focused their attention acutely on the object, and seemed to be hypnotized.

Something caught my attention, out of the corner of my eye, almost behind me. I turned to look; I noticed Benedict turn nearly at the same time.

A red cloud was swirling and gathering in the room. It crackled and sparked with tiny bolts of crimson lightning, growing and gaining strength. A sharp wind suddenly whipped through the room.

I made some sound of distress—what word can one possibly use to raise the alarm in such an event?—as Benedict and I drew our swords. Once aware of the phenomenon, the others did the same.

Random’s form emerged from the smog, sword in hand. Faster than blinking, Benedict was on him.

Brand snapped his fingers and suddenly flames surged from his person, which spread to Benedict quicker than kindling. At the same time, a ring of fire sprung up from the floor, trapping my cousins and I, Benedict, Corwin, and Fiona within the circle and barring the others from entering.

With a wave of his hand, Brand hurled Benedict backwards. Fiona narrowly dodged him, but Corwin was not so spry and the two tumbled to the floor. Corwin pushed Benedict off hastily and began trying to stifle the flames gnawing his brother’s clothes and scorching his skin.

Fiona flung some spell at Brand, which he deflected effortlessly. He had a mad look in his eye, no longer the composed, sinister villain he usually played. “Sister, sister—you are wasted on these fools. And I have no use for you any longer.” He reached towards her; she began coughing violently. Her hand flew to her throat and then she fell to her knees without warning, gasping for air. Another hacking cough shook out of her and blood splattered the floor. She was choking on something, preventing her from casting spells.

Brand took a step in the direction of Blaine, Naddia, and Shade, who were still spellbound by the Jewel. I threw myself in his path and lunged.

He parried, not as easily as he had Fiona’s attack. This was my strength, not his. He could still overpower me physically, however; he knocked my blade away and got a jab in at my side. I felt a brief sting and the warmth of blood. I ducked his next swing and got in close enough to score a hit on his chest. Suddenly barbarous, he clocked me on the jaw with the hilt of his sword. I saw stars; I stumbled and fell. I brought my sword up on instinct, and his blade clashed with mine.

I kicked him in the soft part of his thigh, distracting him just long enough to roll away and get to my feet. Merlin jumped in at the opening. His fast-paced style threw Brand off, it seemed, and I had an opportunity to take in a breath.

“Merlin, you’re wide!” I shouted, too late; Brand landed a hit, but it didn’t seem bad. It didn’t slow Merlin down much, at any rate.

My eyes landed on Naddia’s utility belt. A small grenade hung from it among her sporran and daggers. I leapt at her and snatched it from her belt.

I turned back to the duel; I shouted to Merlin to get back, pulled the pin from the grenade and jumped forward to shove it into Brand’s hands.

“Evelyn, are you mad?!” shrieked Merlin. He grabbed my arm and pulled me away just as the thing exploded.

We were thrown some distance by foul-smelling black smoke and landed flat on our backs. My ears were ringing, the room was spinning.

I tried to pull myself up. I had been to a carnival or two in Shadow, been on Tilt-a-Whirl rides. The sensation I felt now was incredibly similar. I looked over to see Merlin was unconscious next to me; he’d taken the brunt of the fall.

Through my daze, I saw Brand, stumbling and gagging. His skin was covered in bubbled blisters, burned, and he was bellowing in anger and agony. He saw me as I tried to stand.

“You,” he snarled. “You, you have always been a thorn in my side, you have always been utterly useless, your very existence is an idle distraction from everything that matters.” His grip on his sword firmed. “I should have killed both your parents before they ever whelped you.”

His step was steadier as he came at me. I grabbed Merlin’s sword from his limp hand and lunged with all my might into a controlled fall towards Brand. The blade slid through his right thigh. He screamed, falling to his knees in front of me. I had successfully put a deep, angled cut in his left thigh, opening his femoral artery but not severing it, as the latter would cause the artery to constrict and slow bleeding but the former will drain a body in three minutes. Even when I get my ass kicked, I can aim.

“Oh, you are good,” said Brand breathlessly. He reached up to grab my throat, the other hand took hold of my wrist. Idiot that I am, I dropped the sword to pry at his grip.

A battered Ronin suddenly appeared, staggering behind Brand. He grasped our uncle’s arm, took his hand from my throat, and, with a disturbingly perfunctory motion, dislocated Brand’s shoulder.

Brand fell forward, twisting around to land on his back. Some sort of purple lightning shot from him and hit Ronin in the chest, causing him to topple like a bookshelf.

The devilish storm began to brew once more.

“No,” I rasped. I scrambled around him, drawing the dirk I’d stashed in my boot, and set the thip of my blade just under his ribcage. Ronin struggled to his feet and stood next to me, panting.

“This is not how it ends, girl,” Brand croaked. He was bleeding out. “I’m not done. I’ll be seeing you again.” His eyes darted to the storm clouds, then to the trio entranced by the Jewel. “Get out! Leave him there!” he snarled, raising his good arm weakly. The maelstrom cracked open, revealing the abyss into which Brand had escaped once already.

“Don’t,” I warned, but I already knew I had to run him through. I couldn’t save Random.

Just as I plunged, a light burst from Brand, sending a shockwave through the entire room that flattened throughout the entire room and snuffed out the flames.

Blaine, Naddia, and Shade suddenly came back to themselves and Random—unmistakably Random, no longer Brand—cried out and writhed suddenly.

“What happened? Why—I’m—” The shock and pain and exsanguination were causing understandable distress. He saw the blood pouring from his leg. “Fuck! What—who—”

I scrambled over to him and pressed on the wound—the wound I’d inflicted. Blood poured out of him regardless. He had maybe a minute left.

“I need a tourniquet!” Was a tourniquet right? I couldn’t remember. His blood was gushing through my fingers.“Random, try to calm down—do you know where you are? Do you remember who I am?” He couldn’t hear me, though, he was too dazed and panicked. I placed my leg on top of his to hold it down. A last burst of adrenaline was allowing him to flail with sudden energy. “Uncle, I’m sorry! Listen to me, stay with us!”

Random’s eyes started to glaze over. “Martin…?”

“Fiona, help!”

The battered sorceress stumbled over and dropped to her knees next to me. She laid her hands on mine, applying pressure to the leg, murmuring linchpins. Thank goodness she’d had the foresight to prepare spells before this insanity.

I became aware of tears on my face. “Save him, Fiona, please!”

The bleeding slowed, then stopped. Fiona pulled my hands away.

_This is two kings I’ve killed._

“He’s not dead,” she said; she was covered in her own blood, “Evelyn, listen to me: he is not dead. But he needs surgery immediately.” She motioned to her brothers and Corwin and Gérard gathered him up carefully.

Julian helped Fiona to her feet. “Fi, you’re in no condition—”

She pushed his hands away. “Doesn’t matter.”

I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth and tried to get a hold of myself. I was drenched in my uncle’s blood. I knelt in a pool of it. His death was literally on my hands. I was guilty of his murder.

My mother gently helped me up, though I was barely aware of what was happening in the room now. Caine put an arm around my waist and half-carried me along as Flora was saying something in a soothing tone, steering us towards the door when Merlin shouted, “Evelyn!”

The alarm in his voice triggered some disaster response reflex in me; I spun and ran across the room to where he stood with Blaine, Naddia, Shade and Ronin. Flora was on my heels, and Benedict.

“Oh my god—” Flora gasped.

On the floor, a shivering, naked form lay in the scorch marks left by Brand’s lightning storm. I fell to my knees next to him, a cold feeling in my chest.

“Eric?”

He eyes flew open and he gasped violently, nearly lifting his torso off the floor with the force of it. He dropped back down, senseless again, but was, unmistakably, breathing.

My heart seemed to have stopped. My hands shook as I reached out to touch his arm, to feel that he was real. Panic welled up in me like bile.

_The battle is over. The Pattern is safe. Eric is alive. This is not a dream._


End file.
